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liCSe  tfBRARY 


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ALTGE    FRANKLIN. 

la  Cale. 


ANOTHER  PART  OF 


-SOWING    AND    REAPING* 


BY  MARY  HOWITT. 

OF   "STRIVB  AND  THRIVE  ;"   **  HOPE  O.V,  HOPS  BTaai* 
*'  fO    «5»fSB  WKK  COMMON  SKygS,"  ItC,  dtC. 


NEW-YORK : 
D.    A  P  P  L  E  T  O  N    &    C  O  2^1  P  A  N  Y  , 

443    &    445    BROADWAY. 
M.DCCO.LXIII. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Friends  by  the  Fireside 
II.  Golden  Promises         .         .         >         .         • 

III.  Letters  and  News 

IV.  More  Letters  and  more  News     .         .         « 
V.  A  Paternal  Scheme  Frustrated      . 

VI.  Two  Rival  Lovers  and  an  Aching  Heart 
VII.  A  Beautiful  Spirit  and  Tea  with  a  Friend 
VIII.  A  Cloud  by  the  Fireside  \  and   what    shall  be 


DONE   NOW 


IX.    A    Wrong  Thing   done  ;  and  an  Effort  to 
SAVE  One  who  will  not  be  saved 

X.  Perseverance  against  Hope 

XI.  A  Broken  Hkart     .         .  , 

XII.  A  Kind  Heart  wounded  ;  and  a  "Wedding  that 
LOOKS  Gay    ...» 


1 

12 

,  21 

35 
48 

58 

82 

103 

123 
138 
i43 

161 


ALICE    FRANKLIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FRIENDS   BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 

There  were  many  great  dinner-parties  and  costI> 
entertainments  in  London  on  the  evening  of  a  certain 
18th  of  October  ;  not  that  it  was  any  day  of  public 
and  general  festivity,  but  there  is  not  a  day  through- 
out the  year  in  which,  in  London,  this  is  not  the 
case  ;  and,  besides  the  grand  and  the  expensive,  there 
were  others  too  of  a  very  different  character,  in  which 
the  five  or  the  ten  shillings,  which  were  to  provide 
the  little  entertainment  for  the  two  or  three  dear 
friends,  had  been  spared  with  difficulty  out  of  the 
month's  or  week's  allowance.  To  our  minds  nothing 
can  be  more  affecting  than  these  little  sacrifices  to 
friendship  and  affection.  Would  to  God  that  anxiety 
and  care  did  not  too  often  come  in  also  as  guests  witli 
the  invited  ! 

Let  us  then  see,  on  this  afternoon  of  the  18th  of 
October,  Elizabeth  Durant  enter  the  humble  lodgings 
of  herself  and  her  mother,  with  the  small  basket  of 
purchases  which  was  to  serve  for  the  entertainment 
of  three  friends. 


Z  FRIENDS    BV    THE    FIRESIDE. 

"  I  would  not  invite  people  at  all,"  said  her  mothctj 
who  was  sitting  in  her  large  chair  by  the  fire,  "  if  1 
could  not  entertain  them  handsomely." 

"  Nor  would  I,"  replied  Elizabctli ;  "  nor  do  I. 
except  Alice  and  iier  mother,  and  Mr.  Netley  ;  they 
know  us  so  well  that  I  never  pretend  to  get  any 
thing  out  of  the  way  for  them.  They  would  fare  quite 
as  well,  if  not  better,  at  home ;  bat  then  there  is  a 
sentiment  of  good  fellowship  which  they  would  feel 
if  they  only  took  bread  and  water  with  us.  I  make 
some  little  sacrifice  to  entertain  them  thus  simply ; 
this  they  know,  and  for  this  reason  they  always  seem 
happy  when  they  come." 

"  Seem  so"  repeated  her  mother.  "  Yes,  they 
seem  so  out  of  charity ;  I  hate  people  to  be  civil  to 
one  out  of  charity  !  " 

Elizabeth  smiled,  and  went  on  with  her  little 
arrangements,  for  she  was  used  to  her  mother's  in- 
firmity of  temper,  and  she  had  great  forbearance 
with  her. 

Poor  jMrs.  Durant,  however,  was  sadly  out  of  sorts 
to-day,  and  she  did  not  long  maintain  silence.  "  I 
wonder  how  you  can  be  contented  to  live  as  we  do," 
said  she,  "  you  a  gentlewoman  born  and  bred — but 
you  never  had  my  spirit !  You  have  done  very 
wrong,  Elizabeth — very  foolishly  !  You  may  wait 
long  enough  before  you  get  such  another  offer  !  " 

Elizabeth  knew  well  enough  to  what  her  mother 
alluded  ;  ic  was  a  painful  cause  of  difference  between 
them,  and  had  been  so  for  the  last  three  months. 

"  Dearest  mother," returned  Elizabeth,  "  have  you 
yet  to  learn  that  most  common-place  of  all  truisms, 
that  money  alone  cannot  make  married  life  happy  i  " 


FRIENDS    BY   THE    FIRESIDE.  & 

"  It  cannot  be  happy  without  it,"  retorted  hei 
mother. 

"  I  never  will  so  far  sell  myself  as  to  marry  merely 
for  a  home,  whilst  I  have  the  ability  to  maintair 
myself,"  replied  Elizabeth. 

*'  By  maintaining  yourself,"  returned  her  mother 
"  you  are  cut  off  from  any  good  connexion  ; — such 
foolish  or  otherwise,  are  the  prejudices  of  society. 
A  man  of  rank  would  no  sooner  think  of  marrying 
the  maker  of  artificial  flowers  than  his  cook — you 
have  no  chance  of  that  kind.  Besides  this,  you  ought 
to  take  into  consideration  that  you  are  not  as  young 
now  as  you  have  been ;  every  additional  year  tells 
upon  you  now,  to  which  you  must  add  the  effect  and 
influence  of  narrow  circumstances,  and  the  anxiety 
which  they  necessarily  bring — for  you  cannot,  you  see, 
even  ask  your  friends  to  drink  a  miserable  cup  of  tea 
without  stinting  yourself  ^r  it  one  way  or  another ; 
and  then,  if  you  become  ill  or  infirm,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  you  ? " 

Elizabeth  sighed. 

"  Yes,  as  I  was  saying,"  continued  her  mother, 
"  every  year  will  add  wrinkles  and  gray  hairs ;  and 
then  where  will  be  the  man  with  fifty  thousand  pounds, 
who  will  beg  and  pray,  and  beg  and  pray  again,  for 
you  to  be  his  wife  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Elizabeth,  you 
have  been  a  great  fool." 

"  How  often,"  said  Elizabeth,  pausing  in  the 
midst  of  her  little  preparations,  "  must  I  assure  you 
that  I  could  not  have  been  even  tolerably  happy  with 
Mr.  Watson?  Take  your  own  view  of  the  case  — 
you  who  reason  so  much  from  the  argument  of  being 
a  gentlewoman  born  and  bred.    Here  is  a  man,  coars€ 


*  FRIENDS    BY    THE    FIIIESIDE. 

and  vulgar  in  appearance  and  manners,  of  no  educa- 
tion— a  common  baker,  who  brings  bread  to  our  own 
door.  Was  he  a  fit  husband  for  me,  though  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view  I  was  not  higher  than  he  ?  We 
both  had  to  get  our  daily  bread,  whilst  I  was  sub- 
jected to  many  more  self-denials  and  much  more 
bitter  experience  of  a  low  estate  than  he,  because 
his  mind,  his  tastes,  his  habits,  were  all  fruited  to  his 
own  class.  You  thought,  as  I  did,  that  he  was  very 
unfit  for  my  husband — that  his  very  proposal  had 
something  of  presumption  in  it.  A  fortnight  after- 
wards, the  merest  chance  in  the  world,  the  drawing 
of  a  fortunate  lottery  number,  makes  him  the  possessor 
of  fifty  thousand  pounds.  He  is  then  rich,  is  then 
unquestionably,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  my  supe- 
rior, and  though  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  some 
degree  of  generosity  and  sincerity  in  his  again  renew- 
ing his  suit,  the  man,  in  ipind  and  manners,  remained 
the  same — I  could  not  marry  him." 

"  The  greater  fool  you  !  "  returned  her  mother. 
"  Fifty  thousand  pounds  !  You  have  no  idea  of  the 
value  of  money  ;  then  as  to  the  man  himself — the 
very  possession  of  wealth  refines  any  one  !  " 

"  You  yourself,"  replied  Elizabeth,  "  look  down 
on  upstart  tradespeople — on  parvenu  gentry." 

"  All  London  is  made  up  of  parvenu  gentry  ! " 
said  her  mother.  "  You'll  die  poor,"  contmued  she — 
"die  perhaps  in  a  workhouse; — for  what  is  to  be- 
come of  you  when-you  get  old  and  infirm,  or  blind, 
or  when  flowers  go  out  of  fashion — which  they  may 
any  day  ?" 

Again  Elizabeth  sighed,  for  she  did  not  need  to  be 
reminded  of  these  things;   but  as  she  had  always 


FBIENDS   BY    THE    FIRESIDE.  9 

carefully  avoided  talking  on  painful  anxieties  to  het 
mother,  her  mother  never  knew  what  she  really  felt. 

"  And  then,"  continued  her  mother,  "  if  you  are 
80  disinterested  as  not  to  think  much  for  yourself,  you 
might  think  a  little  for  other  people — for  me,  for 
instance.  Mliat's  to  become  of  me  if  anything  should 
happen  to  Lady  Thicknisse  ? — or  she  may  take  it 
into  her  head  to  stop  my  annuity ;  she  is  old,  and 
wilful,  and  fancrful — she  has  quarrelled,  you  know, 
even  with  Sir  Lynam." 

"  Your  annuity  is  safe  as  long  as  she  lives,"  said 
Elizabeth ;  "  and  after  that,"  continued  she,  with  a 
tearful  eye,  "  1  have  firm  faith  in  the  goodness  of 
God  that  we  shall  not  want." 

"  Many  good  people  do  want,  though,"  said  her 
mother  ;  "  and  this  I  know,  that  God  helps  those  who 
help  themselves.  You  have  flung  away  such  a  chance 
as  you  will  not  again  have;  he  '11  not  come  begging 
and  praying  to  you  again." 

"  Most  likely  not,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Positively  not !  "  returned  her  mother,  provoked 
by  her  apparent  imperturbability  ;  '*  and  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Elizabeth,  it  was  only  yesterday  that  I  was 
silly  enough  to  go  all  the  way  to  Hammersmith  to 
see  his  fine  house  there.  I  had  heard  about  it — you 
look  surprised — I  had  heard  about  it,  1  say,  and 
about  something  else  besides,  and  I  had  a  mind  to  see 
him  if  I  could." 

"  Surely,  surely  not,"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  fearful 
what  her  mother's  motives  might  have  been. 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself,"  said  her  mother ;  "  I  did 
not  see  him,  at  least,  not  to  speak  to  him,  but  I  saw 
Ids  house — as  proper  a  gentleman's  house  aa  I  wo'a14 
b2 


6  FRIENDS   BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 

wish  to  see— not  an  old,  stately  place,  like  Stantoi; 
Combe,  but  a  handsome  substantial  place,  I  can 
assure  you,  and  fit  for  a  Durant  to  have  married  into. 
I  was  fool  enough  to  give  a  shilling  to  the  house- 
keeper to  show  me  over  it :  it  had  all  been  furnished 
new — she  said  the  furniture  alone  cost  many  thou- 
sands— " 

"  Why  did  you  do  so  1 "  asked  Elizabeth,  mortified 
and  distressed.  "  I  would  not  for  the  world  that  he 
should  know  what  you  have  done  !  " 

*'  Bless  my  life,  child  ! "  returned  her  mother ;  '*  he 
is  not  likely  to  know — he's  married." 

"  1  was  right,  then,"  said  Elizabeth,  smiling.  "  I 
told  you  he  would  soon  get  over  his  disappointment." 

"  Married  he  is,"  continued  her  mother,  "  and  to 
a  gentlewoman,  too — to  a  banker's  daughter  out  of 
Leicestershire,  I  think  they  said — with  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  expectations.  They  happened  to  arrive 
just  before  I  went  away — in  a  carriage-and-four — 
and  a  very  pretty  3'oung  girl  she  was  !  God  forgive 
me,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Durant,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  could  not 
help  breaking  one  of  the  commandments — for  I 
coveted  her  lot  for  you." 

"  I  would  rather,"  said  Elizabeth,  ^'  even  after  all 
you  have  told  me,  gain  my  daily  bread  by  my  own 
fingers,  and  keep  my  firm  reliance  on  Providence, 
than  have  married  Mr.  Watson  with  all  his  wealth. 
Marriage  is  the  most  holy  of  God's  ordinances,  and 
we  sin  against  him  when  we  marry  without  love. 
I  did  not  refuse  him,  I  assure  you,  without  having 
deeply  weighed  the  matter,  and  I  felt  that  I  dared 
not  to  have  married  him — feeling  towards  him,  and 
thinking  of  him,  as  I  did." 


FRIENDS    BY    THE    FIRESIDE.  7 

"  As  I  have  told  you  scores  of  times,"  argued  hei 
mother,  '"you  don't  understand  these  things;  children 
would  have  been  a  bond  of  love  between  you  ;  love 
would  have  slid  into  your  heart  you  know  not  how!" 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head  as  if  in  doubt— but 
Bmiled  nevertheless.  She  made  no  reply,  but  went 
on  with  her  little  arrangements,  and  then,  when  all 
was  ready,  sat  down  to  her  work  till  the  arrival  of 
her  guests.  In  the  mean  time  her  mothev  had  been 
still  thinking  on  topics  akin  to  the  old  sul)ject,  and 
no  sooner  was  her  daughter  seated  than  she  resumed 
the  conversation.  "  And  I  must  say,"  said  sLe,  as  if 
merely  continuing  the  train  of  her  own  thoughts, 
"  that  Philip  has  behaved  very  shaiiie^ully  to  you, 
and  yet,  some  way  or  other,  you  never  seem  to  feel  it 
as  you  ought  to  do."  This,  too,  was  a  subject  of  differ- 
ence between  Elizabeth  and  her  mother,  and  was 
even  more  painful  to  her  than  the  former.  "  But 
there  really  is  something  so  strange  about  you,"  con- 
tinued she ;  "  a  woman  of  spirit  would  have  thought 
so  differently." 

"  What  right  had  I,"  asked  Elizabeth,  "  to  resent 
Philip's  conduct,  or  even  to  think  it  faulty  ?  Heaven 
knows  how  much  we  have  to  thank  him  for ;  and 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  how  much  he  has  suffered 
on  our  account." 

"  And  he  knows,"  argued  Mrs.  Durant,  "  how 
much  Ave  have  all  suffered  from  his  father ;— we  have 
been  made  homeless,  penniless— we  have  been  reduced 
to  beggary,  through  the  tyranny  of  his  father  ;  and  he, 
who  always  professed  to  see  things  so  differently  tc 
aim,  ought  to  have  made  us  some  amends  if  it  had 
been  in  his  power." 


8  FRIENDS  BY     THE    FIRKSIDE. 

"  Amends  ! "  repeated  Elizabeth.  "  But,  my  deal 
mother,  you  overlook  so  many  things — you  take  a 
partial  view  of  so  many  things — and  you  forget  so 
much  of  the  past.  I  was  but  a  mere  child  when  all 
the  first  troubles  began  at  Stanton  Combe,  but  I  think 
Sir  Thomas  Durant  had  no  hand  in  tliem.  That  ho 
profited  by  our  misfortunes  I  grant — but  if  he  had 
not,  some  one  else,  it  is  probable,  would  ;  and  even 
in  that  case  he  was  counteracted  by  Richard  ;  Richard 
left  the  place  a  heap  of  ruins  to  his  hand." 

'*  And  he  did  right ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Durant, 
warmly. 

"  We  think  so  differently  on  so  many  subjects,*"' 
said  Elizabeth,  sorrowfully — "  why  do  we  continu- 
ally talk  of  them  ?  If  we  studiously  endeavoured  to 
create  a  difference  between  us,  we  could  not  do  other- 
wise." 

"  I  want  to  create  no  difference  between  us,"  re- 
turned her  mother  ;  "but  I  must  say  that  I  am  aggra- 
vated when  I  think  of  these  things,  and  see  how  little 
spirit  you  show  !  Then  as  to  what  Philip  Durant 
has  done  for  us,"  continued  she,  pertinaciously  cling- 
ing to  these  painful  thoughts,  "  he  has  taken  Richard 
from  me — made  an  exile  of  him  for  life  ;  and  whether 
he  lives  or  dies  is  more  than  I  can  tell." 

"  Cannot  you  see,"  replied  Elizabeth,  "  what  a 
blessing  it  is  that  he  is  provided  for,  and  that  he  is  fai 
better  out  of  England  than  in  it  ?  He  made  himself, 
unfortunatel}'',  amenable  to  the  law ;  and  the  very 
man  who  has  suffered  through  him  has  provided  for 
him  ;  and  it  has  now  been  his  own  fault  if  he  have 
not,  in  some  measure,  retrieved  his  own  life,  at  least 
as  far  as  himself  was  concerned." 


FRIENDS  BY  THE  FIRESIDE. 

*'  So  long  as  I  thought  Philip  intended  to  take  thtt 
place  of  son  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Durant,  '*  and  to 
provide  for  you,  by  marrying  you,  as  was  no  more 
than  his  duty,  I  was  satisfied  ;  but  I  soon  saw  that 
he  had  no  such  intention;  and  with  all  his  coming 
here,  and  his  professions,  he  never  had — and  that 
provokes  me ! " 

"  I  wish,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  that  you  never  had 
taken  up  the  idea  of  Philip  marrying  me.  I  have 
told  you  all  along,  that  neither  he  nor  I  had  a 
thought  of  the  kind.  He  has  been  my  best,  my  kindest 
friend — more  to  me  than  a  brother — and  such,  I  hope, 
he  will  always  remain  ;  but  he  was  too  honourable  a 
man  to  marry  me  when  he  was  engaged  to  another." 

"  And  what  was  that  other?"  returned  Mrs.  Durant. 
"  A  girl  without  a  penny — a  teacher  in  a  school." 

"  A  high-minded,  high-principled  woman — a  gen- 
tleman's daughter — and  one  worthy  of  him  in  every 
respect !"  interposed  Elizabeth,  with  warmth.  "  Philip 
would  have  been  a  dishonourable  man  to  have  deserted 
her  from  any  chivalric  notions  of  honour  towards  us. 
He  has,  as  it  is,  done  more  for  us  than  wo  had  any 
right  to  expect — besides  which,  you  seem  to  forget 
that  he  has  ruined  himself,  at  least  for  the  present, 
with  his  father,  because  he  screened  Richard  from  his 
vengeance." 

"  The  old  tyrant  ! "  said  Mrs.  Durant,  between 
her  teeth. 

"  For  two  years,"  continued  Elizabeth,  "  he  has 
never  seen  his  father,  who  sternly  rejects  all  attempts 
at  reconciliation ;  and  considering  Philip's  remark- 
able attachment  to  his  fatlier,  without  looking  at  it  in 
a  worldly  point  of  view,  this  is  no  small  punishment. 


30  FRIENDS    BY    THE   FIRESIDE. 

Poor  Philip  !  "  said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh :  "his  pro- 
spects in  life  are  not  by  any  means  bright  at  present ; 
think  only  of  his  wife  and  child  !  " 

"  Well,"  returned  Mrs.  Durant,  "  what  a  fool  he 
was  to  mairy — to  marry  a  penniless  woman  without 
his  father's  consent.  He  might,  at  all  events,  have 
waited  till  he  had  made  his  peace  with  him." 

"  Pliilip's  marriage,  as  you  know,"  said  Elizabeth, 
"  was  hurried  on  by  Gertrude's  unhappy  situation. 
She  was  ill, — God  knows,  but  I  fear  she  will  not  live 
many  years.  It  was  not  wise,  perhaps — but  then, 
consider  :  she  was  in  an  unprosperous  school,  where 
she  had  too  much  to  do,  and  where  she  was  even 
stinted  in  food  ;  her  health  gave  way;  the  physicians 
ordered  her,  as  she  valued  her  life,  to  return  to  her 
friends ;  she  had  no  friend  but  the  widow  of  her 
uncle,  who  had  been  her  guardian,  and  who  had 
married  a  second  husband  with  grown-up  sons  and 
daughters.  The  particulars  of  all  this  I  know  only  in 
part;  but  this  1  know,  that  Philip,  like  a  kind-hearted, 
Pfenerous,  uncalculating,  and  unworldly  man  as  he  is, 
married  her — although,  in  his  peculiar  circumstances, 
at  variance  with  his  father  as  he  then  was,  it  was 
anything  but  prudent.  They  married;  and  their 
fortunes,  as  is  natural,  are  not  flattering;  still  in 
each  other  they  are  blessed  as  human  beings  can 
be.  You  yourself  know  that ;  you  yourself,  dearest 
mother,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  a  beautiful  smile,  "like 
Gertrude,  and  acknowledge  her  to  be  a  most  lovely 
creature." 

"  It  has  been  a  most  foolish  piece  of  business  alto- 
gether," said  Mrs.  Durant,  who  was  in  too  ill  a 
bumour  to  concede  anything  ;  '-and  I  hate  secrets  and 


FRIENDS    BY    THE    PlRESIDE.  11 

mysteries  of  any  kind.  Philip  had  no  business  to 
have  married,  and  that  I  shall  still  continue  to  say. 
I  am  not  pleased  with  him — and  not  even  an  arch- 
angel himself  will  ever  persuade  me  out  of  my  oun 
Common  sense." 

Mrs.  Durant  said  v/hat  was  true — nothing  in  this 
world  would  ever  have  reconciled  her  to  the  idea  ot 
Philip  having  done  right  in  marrying  other  than 
Elizabeth.  It  had  been  the  favourite  idea  of  the 
unhappy  lady's  head  for  many  months  after  her  first 
acquaintance  with  him.  She  had  begun  to  take  more 
cheerful  views  of  life  in  consequence  of  it.  She  had 
sat,  times  innumerable,  and  built  up  castles  in  the  air 
based  on  this  foundation.  Her  very  heart  had  wai-med 
to  her  daughter,  less  for  her  many  meek  virtues,  her 
indefatigable  kindness,  and  her  self-denying  affection, 
than  as  the  imagined  wife  of  the  future  Sir  Philip 
Burant,  as  the  mistress  of  a  future  Stanton  Combe, 
which,  like  a  phcenix,  was  to  rise  out  of  the  ashes  of 
the  former,  and  to  afford  under  its  broad  ample  roof 
a  shelter  not  only  for  herself  but  for  her  exiled 
Richard,  who,  according  to  her  wishes,  was  to  return 
like  the  infant  Jesus  out  of  Egypt,  when  they  were 
dead  who  had  sought  his  life,  and  who  was  to  occa- 
sion and  to  deserve  far  more  rejoicing  than  even  the 
prodigal  son  of  the  Gospel. 

Poor  Mrs.  Durant !  she  had  never  told  Elizabeth 
one-hundredth  part  of  her  speculations;  and  thus, 
when  the  bridegroom  elect  of  her  own  heart  married 
another,  she  felt  like  one  injured,  and  as  if  she 
really  had  been  duped  in  some  way  or  other.  She 
never,  therefore,  spoke  or  thought  of  this  subject 
without  being  angry. 


12  GOLDEN    PROMISES. 

In  the  mi'dst  of  these  undesirable  feelings,  the  glass- 
coach  drove  up  to  the  door,  containing  the  three  ex- 
pected guests.  But  guests  of  so  much  importance 
must  be  introduced  with  a  new  chapter. 


CHAPTER  11. 

GOLDEN   PROMISES'. 


It  is  now  some  years  since  we  saw  Mrs,  Franklin 
and  her  daughter  Alice — scarcely  indeed  have  wc 
seen  them  since  that  time  v;hen,  refusing  her  daughter 
as  wife  for  the  lawyer  Sharpie,  she  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas  Durant.  Let  us  con- 
sider. It  is  about  six  years  since  that  time ;  Alice 
was  then  eighteen,  and  consequently  now  four-and- 
twenty.  A  year  or  so  the  junior  of  Elizabeth 
Durant,  in  appearance  several  years  so — Alice,  in 
fact,  did  not  look  above  twenty — things  had  gone  on 
smoothly  with  her  :  —  she  knew,  from  her  own  expe- 
rience, real  care  no  more  than  did  the  Sybarite  who 
complained  of  the  crushed  rose-leaf. 

Alice  Franklin  and  Elizabeth  Durant  were  dear 
friends,  and  had  been  so  ever  since  they  beeame  ac- 
quainted, altl*ough  of  characters  most  opposite.  Had 
Elizabeth  resembled  Alice,  they  must  have  clashed 
and  severed  long  ago ;  had  Alice  resembled  Elizabeth, 
they  must  have  been  fast  friends  for  life  ;  as  it  was, 
they  had  not  been  sufficiently  tried,  and  therefore 
they  remained  friends. 

At  eighteen,  Alice   had  been  called  by  her  stern 


GOLDEN    PROMISES.  13 

uncle  "  well- grown  and  passingly  handsome."  The 
opinion  of  the  world  was,  that  she  was  beautiful. 
Bear^tiful  she  certainly  was — of  a  patrician  style  of 
beauty  ;  of  a  tall,  bending  gracefulness,  which  resem- 
bled a  white  lily.  Her  features  were  exquisitely 
chiselled ;  her  head  gracefully  set  on  beautiful 
shoulders  ;  her  eyes,  though  not  remarkably  large, 
were  finely  formed,  and  of  that  clear  dark  gray  colour 
which  at  times,  from  their  extraordinary  brightness. 
leaves  the  beholder  uncertain  df  their  cccact  hue  ;  her 
hair  was  of  the  softest  chestnut  brown,  and  was  worn 
in  long,  unconfined  ringlets,  in  a  style  which,  while 
it  suited  her  face  and  figure,  is  perhaps,  generally 
speaking,  more  picturesque  than  becoming. 

In  character  she  was  a  singular  mixture  of  senti- 
ment and  coldness — was  romantic  and  calculating  at 
the  same  time.  She  herself  esteemed  Elizabeth 
rather  than  loved  her — she  v.-ould  have  loved  her 
more  if  she  had  not  been  morally  so  superior  to  her- 
self. Elizabeth  loved  her  rather  than  esteemed  her  ; 
she  was  aware  of  her  faults,  but  she  loved  her  as  a 
sister  spite  of  those  faults.  Alice  felt  that  if  ever  she 
fell  into  adversity,  Elizabeth  would  stand  by  her,  true 
to  death.  Elizabeth  doubted  whether,  if  fortune  and 
the  world  showered  their  smiles  and  favours  on  Alice, 
she  would  not  soon  forsake,  if  not  disown  her.  Still, 
however,  all  as  yet  had  been  an  untroubled  calm, 
and  their  friendship  had  been  like  a  happy  sun- 
shiny day.  Alice  had  no  other  female  friend  than 
Elizabeth,  and  she  opened  her  heart  to  her  as  much 
as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  open  it  to  any  one ;  she, 
in  reality,  professed  more  affection  for  her  than  in 
her  own  soul  she  knew  she  felt,  and  Elizabeth  be- 
c 


14  GOLDEN    PROMISES. 

lieved  her,  because  in  every  word  and  deed  she  her 
self  "vvas  so  sincere. 

Alice  I'ranklin,  whilst  she  appeared  perfectly 
natural,  was  one  of  the  most  artificial  of  human 
beings ;  nobody  knew  but  herself  how  every  attitude, 
every  action  had  been  studied,  and  was  suited  to  time 
and  place.  People  saw  her  sitting,  and  it  seemed  to 
them  that  they  saw  an  exquisite  picture  ;  "  she  could 
not  have  sat  better  for  her  portrait,  and  that  rich 
crimson  curtain  behind  her  produces  so  fine  an  effect  \" 
Ah,  artful  Alice  Franklin,  but  for  that  crimson  cur- 
tain, and  that  low  seat,  she  would  not  have  sat  there. 
She  knew  how  to  rise,  how  to  stand,  how  to  move  for 
effect,  yet  no  one  would  ever  have  suspected  her  of 
all  this  ;  for  her  art  was  the  most  consummate  of  all — 
it  never  betrayed  itself.  She  was,  besides  this,  pos- 
sessed  of  much  natural  talent ;  drew,  danced,  sang, 
played — if  not  like  a  master,  at  least  with  so  much 
eflPect  that  it  was  all  the  same.  Money,  leisure,  and 
some  degree  of  ambition,  had  done  for  her  all  that 
could  be  done.  Her  mother  doted  on  her  beyon(? 
words ;  she  was,  in  her  eyes,  perfection  itself.  Her 
grand-uncle  Netley,  too,  whilst  he  cherished  for  her 
the  warmest  afi"ection,  and  whose  heiress,  of  course, 
she  was  always  considered,  not  only  by  others,  but 
by  himself,  saw,  however,  deeper  into  the  real  springs 
of  her  character  than  any  one  else ;  and  for  this 
reason,  in  the  bottom  of  her  soul,  she  did  not  quite 
like  him.  His  silent  penetration  wounded  both  her 
self-love  and  her  pride.  No  third  person,  however, 
would  in  the  slightest  degree  have  suspected  her  of 
the  least  want  of  affection  towards  him,  nor  outwardly 
did  she  ever  fail  the  least  in  duty  and  respect.     Slu 


eOLDEN    PROMISES.  16 

was  too  much  alive  to  the  world's  opinion  for  that. 
The  world  knew,  as  well  as  she  did,  not  only  what 
were  her  and  her  mother's  obligations  to  this  kind 
relative,  but  what  were  their  expectations  from  him  ; 
outwardly,  therefore,  all  was  smooth  and  pleasant, 
and  amiable  as  an  angel's  self.  Yes,  artful  indeed 
was  the  fair  Alice  Franklin  ! 

One  other  trait  of  character  we  must  give,  and  then 
we  will  leave  her  to  act  and  speak  for  herself.  She 
was,  as  we  have  said,  romantic ;  had  romantic  no- 
tions and  views  of  life,  which  seemed  almost  at  vari- 
ance with  her  really  cold  and  prudential  heart.  She 
was  superstitious  too  ;  had  great  faith  in  dreams,  pre- 
sages and  omens ;  and  was  one  of  those  persons  to 
whom  singular  passages  and  accidents  occurred,  as  if 
to  stagger  one's  sober  judgment  and  perplex  one's 
unbelief. 

Such  a  girl  as  Alice  Franklin  had,  of  course,  many 
lovers,  the  accepted  among  whom  was  Henry  Mait- 
land,  the  son  of  a  prosperous  gold-and- silversmith  of 
the  city.  Henry  Maitland  was  deeply  and  despe- 
rately in  love,  and  had  been  so  for  two  whole  years. 
His  family,  who  were  all  charmed  with  Alice,  wished 
the  marriage  to  take  place :  so  did  both  her  mother 
and  Mr.  Netley ;  but  Alice  delayed  and  delayed  ; 
she  would  assign  no  reason  why,  but  that  she  would 
not  yet — the  next  winter,  or  the  next  summer, 
whatever  the  season  might  then  be,  but  not  yet ! 
And  Alice  had  her  way,  while  good  Mr.  Netley 
thought  within  liimself  that  Alice  loved  not  truly,  or 
she  would  not  thus  tantalise  her  promised  bride- 
groom ;  and,  in  his  own  mind,  he  said  that  he  should 
not  at  all  wonder  if  the  marriage  never  took  place.  He 


16  GOLDEN    PROMISES. 

did  not  know^why,  but  someway  or  other  he  thought 
it  would  not — and  such  an  idea  always  made  him 
angry  with  her. 

No  sooner  had  Alice  taken  off  her  glove,  than 
Elizabeth  missed  a  certain  beautiful  ring  from  her 
hand,  which  had  been  given  to  her  by  her  lover 
under  peculiar  circumstances,  and  which  Elizabeth 
knew  she  made  a  point  of  alwa3's  wearing.  Alice 
said  nothing  of  the  ring,  but  began  to  tell  how  she 
had  had  her  fortune  told  that  morning  by  a  deaf  and 
dumb  sybil,  and  that,  according  to  her  report,  she 
was  on  the  eve  of  a  great  change  in  fortune ;  a  letter 
was  on  tlie  way  to  her,  and  she  was  to  darken  some- 
body's path  in  life  ;  she  was  to  have  a  deal  of  trouble 
herself,  and  yet  to  be  ver}^  fortunate.  She  said  that 
someway  or  other  it  had  made  her  very  low-spirited. 

"  Besides  which,"  said  Mr.  Netle}',  who  had  been 
listening  to  her  words,  "  she  has  broken  Henrv's  ring 
to-day." 

Alice  held  up  her  beautiful  hand  to  show  the  ab- 
sence of  the  ring,  which  her  friend  had  noticed 
already. 

"  It  is  the  second  time,"  said  Alice,  "  that  it  has 
broken.  It  broke  as  Henry  put  it  on  my  finger  first; 
it  broke  again  this  morning,  without  any  apparent 
cause,  as  I  was  playing  with  it.  One  piece  seemed  to 
fall  to  the  ground,  but  though  I  have  spent  hours  in 
the  search,  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  it."  It  por- 
tended some  dire  misfortune,  she  was  persuaded. 

All  laughed  at  the  superstitious  girl,  and  declared 
that  she  had  already  experienced  the  misfortune  which 
it  foretold,  in  the  loss  of  the  ring  itself. 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Durant  began  to  tell  how  she  bad 


GOLDEN    PROMISES.  17 

gone  the  day  before  to  see  the  ex-baker's  house  at 
Hammersmith,  and  astonished  them  by  the  news  of 
his  marriage  with  the  banker's  fair  daugliter,  whoj 
she  said,  with  a  look  of  bitter  reproach  at  Elizabeth, 
*'  was  wiser  than  some  people,  and  who  hacl  not 
thought  herself  too  good  for  his  wife." 

"  Only  think,"  continued  the  poor  lady,  who  could 
not  rid  herself  of  the  haunting  idea,  "  how  different 
it  would  have  been  if  we,  on  this  very  evening,  had 
been  sitting  in  that  handsomely-furnished  house — you 
the  misti-ess  of  some  thousands  a  year,  with  servants 
to  wait  on  you,  and  with  no  care  or  anxiety  at  all ! 
I'll  be  bound  to  say  he  would  have  let  you  launch 
out  into  what  expense  you  liked,  for  he  would  have 
looked  up  to  you  in  all  knowledge  of  life ;  and  you 
might  have  had  all  your  old  friends  about  you,  as 
much  as  you  had  wished,  for  he  would  have  been  so 
glad  to  have  got  into  better  society.  What  a  differ- 
ence there  would  then  have  been  !  Ah,  child  !  "  said 
she,  in  a  tone  of  unspeakable  vexation,  "  you  have 
been  the  greatest  fool  under  the  sun  !  " 

There  was  some  little  difference  of  opinion  on  this 
subject.  Mr.  Netley  thought  that  low  people,  sud- 
denly raised  to  wealth,  were  often  the  most  unmanage- 
able, impracticable  people ;  he  did  not  think,  as  he 
had  said  before,  that  had  Elizabeth  married  the  ex- 
baker,  he  would  at  all  have  given  up  the  reins  to  his 
wife.  From  what  he  knew  of  the  man,  he  said,  he 
never  expected  him  to  run  through  his  money  foolishly. 
as  many  did — he  expected  whoever  lived  twenty 
years,  and  knew  hini  then,  w^ould  find  him  a  miserly 
curmudgeon,  who,  ignorant  himself,  and  naturally 
narrow-minded,  would  begrudge  his  children  educa* 
c2 


18  WOIiDErr   PROMISES. 

tion,  and  thus,  to  use  a  common  proverb,  lay  up  roda 
in  pickle  for  himself  in  his  old  age. 

Alice  and  her  mother  -were  warmly  unanimous  in 
saying  that  the  fifty  thousand  pounds,  could  it  have 
been  taken  without  the  ex-baker,  would  have  been 
most  desirable  ;  but  as  it  was,  they  would  have  done 
like  Elizabeth — would  have  preferred  making  artifi- 
cial flowers  to  have  been  Mrs.  "NVatson. 

From  this  subject  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
influence  which  sudden  and  great  wealth  has  on  the 
heart  and  character.  Alice,  like  the  ex-baker,  had 
often  tried  her  luck  in  lotteries,  and  all  agreed  that,  if 
faith  was  to  be  put  in  the  deaf  and  dumb  sybLl,  she 
too  was  to  be  fortunate  in  the  numbei-s  she  had  to 
draw.  Her  uncle  said  that  sudden  wealth  was  mostly 
a  misfortune,  and  he  gave  many  instances  to  support 
his  opinion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  I  grant  all  you  say  to  be 
true  in  those  particular  in-stances ;  but  you  have 
looked  merely  on  weak  minds,  cold,  selfish  hearts, 
who  were  incapable  of  acting  otherwise  ;  but  can  you 
not  imagine  instances  in  which  sudden  and  even  enor- 
mous wealth  might  be  possessed  with  humility,  and 
used  worthily  ?  Is  there  no  human  heart,  I  do  not 
say  able  to  resist  all  temptation,  but  in  which  natu- 
ral goodness  is  not  strong  enough  to  keep  it  at  least 
tolerably  right,  even  under  great  temptation  ?  " 

Mr.  Nctley  demurred.  "  Suppose  any  one  of  us 
now,"  said  he,  "  were  to  be  the  drawer  of  one  of  your 
great  prizes?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Alice,  with  a  glow  which,  if  it  were 
not  generous  emotion,  most  strongly  resembled  it, 
"  if  £uch  were  my  fortune,  how  happy  would  not  I 


GOLDEN   PROMISES.  19 

mako  you  all !  Elizabeth,  you  should  share  it  with 
me — we  would  live  like  second  ladies  of  Llangollen  in 
a  beautiful  cottage  together — you  should  then  never 
spend  your  life  in  making  artificial  flowers  !  " 

"But  iVIr.  Maitland?"  said  Elizabeth,  smiling. 
*'  One  of  the  ladies  in  the  cottage  would  have  to  leave 
for  a  husband." 

"  Well,  I  only  wish,'"'  returned  Alice,  "  that  I 
might  be  tried." 

"  If  gold  does  not  rust,"  said  Mr.  Netley  gravely, 
"  there  is  an  innate  principle  of  corruption  in  it — it 
cormpts  its  possessor," 

"  I  would  gladly  take  the  wealth,"  i-eturned  Alice, 
"  without  fear  of  its  consequences  on  myself — I 
should  like  to  be  tried." 

"  Elizabeth  has  resisted  it — has  rejected  it,"  said 
the  old  gentleman. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Alice,  "  I  can  very  well  understand 
why  she  rejected  it  in  that  case ;  if  she  could  have 
taken  the  money  without  the  man,  it  would  have  been 
very  different.  However,  if  my  numbers  are  lucky, 
I'll  take  care  of  Elizabeth,  "said  she,  taking  her  hand 
affectionately,  "  for  she  deserves  it ;  and  all  that 
Mrs.  Durant  says  is  very  true — it  is,  it  must  be,  a 
hopeless  thing  to  work  for  one's  own  bread." 

"  I  am  sure,  if  Alice  had  the  means,  she  would  do 
all  she  says,"  remarked  her  mother. 

"  My  lifef  however,  is  not  as  hopeless  as  you 
think,"  said  Elizabeth;  "for  though  I,  for  myself,  have 
no  expectation  of  fortune  either  from  one  quarter  or 
another,  still  I  possess  that  which  is  better  than  such 
expectation,  and  that  is  confidence  in  the  goodness  of 
Providence:  He  will  not  leteithermyself  or  my  moiher 


20  GOLDEN    PROMISES. 

want.  I  look  for  no  other  than  a  life  of  labour  for  my 
self — God  grant  me  only  patience  and  ability  for  it !  " 

"  And  that  you  will  have  !  "  said  good  Mr.  Netley, 
with  warmth. 

"  I  wish  more  than  that,"  said  Alice  ;  "  I  wish  to 
Heaven  I  might  be  your  benefactor."  Tears  were  in 
her  eyes  as  she  said  this,  and  the  generosity  of  the 
sentiment  gave  an  almost  angelic  expression  to  her 
countenance. 

Never  had  these  two  families  seemed  more  uniteJ 
than  they  were  this  evening.  Poor  Mrs.  Durant  her- 
self forgot  some  of  her  vexations,  when  she  saw  so 
many  kind  faces  beaming  around  her  in  the  brigh<- 
fire-light.  She  could  not  help  feeling  glad  that  there 
were  some  in  the  great  city  who  would  now  and  then 
come  in  and  drink  a  friendly  and  unexpensive  cup  ol 
tea  with  them. 

At  eight  o'clock  Alice's  lover,  who  knew  of  their 
being  here,  joined  them  ;  and  though  she  told  him  of 
the  broktn  ring,  and  repeated  her  l)elief  in  its  evil 
portent,  never  had  she  seemed  kinder  to  him — never 
happier,  and  never  gayer,  than  she  was  that  evening. 

"  What  a  bewitching  creature  she  is  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Durant  to  her  daughter,  when  the  glass-coach  >\luch 
had  brought  them  carried  them  home  again  at  ten 
o'clock.  "  If  you  had  only  been  as  handsome  as  she 
is,  what  a  lucky  thing  it  would  have  been !  Her 
face  would  be  her  fortune  without  any  other.  I  pro- 
test she  gets  handsomer  every  Say,  and  how  fond  poor 
Haiti  and  is  of  her  !  " 

"  Poor  !  "  repeated  Elizabeth. 

"  Ay,  poor"  returned  her  mother  ;  "  someway  or 
other  I  always  feel  sorry  for  him — he  seems  such  an 


LETTERS    AND    NEWS.  21 

excellent  young  man,  and  so  dotingly  fond  of  her — 
and  she  has  a  world  of  pride,  that  she  has — she  often 
treats  him  like  a  dog." 

Elizabeth  smiled,  and  said  that  one  day  Mr.  Netley 
had  called  him  Jemmy  Grove,  and  she  '  the  scornful 
Barbara  Allen.' 

"  Ah,  well !"  said  Mrs.  Durant  ;  "  but,  bless  me  ! 
what  a  fine  prospect  she  has — I  would  not  wish  any- 
thing better  for  you,  than  to  be  a  rich  tradesman's 
wife!" 

"  Leave  off  wishing  for  me,"  said  Elizabeth  ;  "you 
only  by  doing  so  create  disappointment  and  dissatis- 
faction for  yourself.  Try  to  be  satisfied  with  me  as 
I  am ;  and  let  us  both  endeavour  to  be  contented 
with  our  own  destiny,  for  that  is  the  true  philosophy 
of  life." 

"  I  never  was  much  of  a  philosopher,"  said  poor 
Mrs.  Durant ;  "  and  it's  now  too  late  in  the  day  for 
me  to  attempt  it." 


CHAPTER  III. 

LETTERS     AND    NEWS. 


We  must  now,  with  our  reader's  permission,  look 
backward  a  few  years,  and  pay  a  visit  to  the  old  Hall 
of  Starkey,  in  the  palatinate  of  Durham. 

After  Mrs.  Durant  fell  into  misfortune,  the  friend- 
ship between  herself  and  Lady  Thicknisse  began  to 
decline,  which  perhaps  was  only  natural,  more  espe- 
cially as  Lady  Thicknisse  never  concealed  the  dis- 


XiZ  LETTERS    AM)    NEWS. 

satisfaction  -which  she  felt  in  the  conduct  of  her  god* 
8on,  Richard.  The  annuity  which  she  allowed  to 
Mrs.  Durant  was  paid  quarterly  with  nndcviating 
punctuality ;  but  the  acknowledgment  of  this,  which 
at  first  was  made  equally  regularly,  was  before  long 
discontinued,  in  consequence  of  a  remark  of  Lady 
Thicknisse  herself,  which  she  wrote,  too,  w'ith  her 
own  hand,  as  a  postscript  to  one  of  her  sister-in-law, 
Mrs.  Betty's,  letters,  to  this  purpose, — "  that  seeing 
Mrs.  Durant  could  not  command  franks,  these  ac- 
knowledgments were  a  needless  cost  of  postage,  par- 
ticularly as  Mrs.  Durant  herself  would  take  care 
that  the  London  banker  was  not  remiss  in  his  pay- 
ment." 

There  had  been  a  time  w^hen  Mrs.  Durant  would 
have  resented  such  a  slight  on  her  correspondence, 
even  from  Lady  Thicknisse  ;  but  that  time  was  long 
gone  by.  Mrs.  Durant  was  not  what  she  had  been ; 
80,  though  she  was  offended  and  hurt,  she  let  the 
affront  sleep,  with  the  mortifying  remark  to  herself, 
"  that  beggars  cannot  be  choosers,"  and  in  future 
received  her  quarterly  payment  without  so  much  as 
thanking  either  banker  or  banker's  clerk. 

Intercourse,  however,  w^ith  Starkey  wjis  not  at  an 
end ;  for  good  Mrs.  Betty,  who  never  in  all  her  life 
before  had  been  a  letter- writer,  took  up  her  pen  as 
her^  stately  sister-in-law  laid  down  hers,  and  availed 
herself  of  a  frank  now  and  then,  or  of  a  private  oppor- 
tunity, to  prove  to  her  well-beloved  god-daughter 
that  she  was  not  forgotten. 

Poor  Mrs.  Durant  laughed  contemptuously,  when 
Mrs.  Betty's  first  letter  arrived :  "  For,"  said  she, 
"  what  can  she  find  to  write  about,  when  she  knows 


LKTTEns    AND    NEWS.  29 

nothing  of  Lady  Thicknisse's  movements,  and  how 
in  the  world  will  she  write,  Avho  never  in  the  whole 
course  of  her  life  wrote  half-a-dozen  letters  !" 

But  dear  Mrs.  Betty  wrote  as  she  talked,  and  while 
Elizabeth  read  them,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  tone  of 
her  voice  accompanied  the  words.  Some  people  have 
the  gift  0^ writing  thus  naturally,  and  a  great  gift  it 
is ;  and  if  one  loves  the  writer,  how  doubly  valuable 
are  such  letters  !  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse,  unlettered 
and  simple-minded  as  she  was,  wrote  in  this  style, 
aYid  her  letters,  therefore,  always  were  interesting  to 
Elizabeth,  and  in  process  of  time,  when  they  began 
to  tell  of  the  goings-on  at  Starkey,  became  interest- 
ing to  her  mother  also. 

Our  readers  may  probably  remember  what  was 
stated  in  our  former  volume,  viz.,  that  after  the  sudden 
death  of  the  late  Sir  Sampson,  who  left  no  descend- 
ants, the  title,  together  with  the  Hertfordshire  estate, 
passed  to  the  heir-at-law,  Lynam  Thicknisse,  then  a 
child — the  rich  property  of  Starkey  itself  still  remain- 
ing in  the  possession  of  the  widow  of  Sir  Sampson, 
from  reasons  which  for  many  years  remained  a  mys* 
tery  to  the  public. 

Sir  Lynam,  as  a  boy,  had  passed  all  his  school 
holidays  at  Starkey,  and  in  the  intervals  of  his  col- 
lege life  he  and  his  tutor  were  there  also.  But  by 
degrees  the  visits,  w^hich  at  first  had  only  been  a  cause 
of  pleasure  and  pride  to  the  mistress  of  the  mansion, 
became  less  agi-eeable.  Sir  Lynam  was  wild  and 
wilful,  and,  as  he  grew  old,  became  more  unmanage- 
able in  temper,  and  more  unrestrained  in  action,  till 
at  length  the  poor  lady  came  to  the  conclusion,  drawn 
from  experience  both  of  her  adopted  son,  Lynam,  and 


24  LETTERS    AtJD   NEWS. 

her  godson,  Richard  Durant,  that  the  present  gene^ 
ration  of  young  men  was  wofully  degenerated.  Much, 
too,  as  she  had  always  protested  and  believed  that 
she  loved  Sir  Lynam,  she  found  that  as  he  giew 
older,  and  worse,  she  in  reality  cared  very  little  about 
him.  She  dismissed  him,  therefore,  from  Starkey, 
during  one  college  vacation,  assuring  him  that  she 
would  not  henceforth  have  her  repose  disturbed  by 
his  riot,  and  that,  therefore,  if  he  chose,  after  he  had 
sown  his  wild  college  oats,  still  to  shoot  over  the 
manors  of  Starkey,  he  must  locate  himself  somewhe»e 
quietly  in  the  neighbourhood,  for  that  while  she 
lived  she  would  remain  mistress  of  her  own  pl&je, 
and  that  after  her  own  fashion. 

Sir  Lynam,  who  had  the  best  reasons  in  the  world 
for  remaining  on  good  terms  with  the  lady  of  Starkey, 
found  this  suggestion  of  hers  by  no  means  at  variance 
with  his  taste.  He  bought  a  cottage  some  milea 
distant,  which  he  set  about  converting  into  a  little 
hunting-lodge;  built  a  kitchen  and  out-houses  the 
size  of  the  building  itself,  and  stables  four  times  aa 
large  as  all  together;  laid  out  gardens  and  shrubberies; 
kept  gardeners,  grooms,  and  servants  of  every  descrip- 
tion ;  hung  paintings  of  all  the  celebrated  hunters  and 
racers  in  the  three  kingdoms  on  the  walls  of  his  din- 
ing-room ;  fitted  up  a  handsome  billiard-room,  and 
laid  down  a  bowling-green ;  built  a  smoking-house 
in  his  garden  ;  and  according  to  his  taste  made  it  as 
complete  as  possible,  leavmg  no  want  but  that  of  jolly 
companions  to  fill  it. 

Jolly  companions,  however,  were  not  wanting  long. 
Some  came  from  Hertfordshire,  some  from  London, 
Wid  some  from  the  very  neighbourhood  of  Starkev 


LETTERS    AND    NEWS.  ZS 

itself.  Lady  Thicknisse  by  no  means  admired  the 
mob  of  men,  as  she  called  them,  ^vho  accompanied 
Sir  Lynam  to  Starkey  to  eat  the  shooting  luncheons 
to  which  she  invited  him,  nor  the  excesses  in  which 
they  indulged ;  she  told  him  so,  and  he  promised  not 
to  annoy  her  again.  To  promise,  with  many  people, 
is  much  jnore  easy  than  to  perform,  and  so  it 
always  was  with  Sir  Lynam.  Lady  Thicknisse  was 
annoyed  more  and  more ;  she  declared  that  the 
peace  of  her  life  was  at  an  encT;  and  at  a  private  intsr- 
yiew  to  which  she  summoned  Sir  Lynam,  infurmed. 
him  solemnly  that  he  never  should  inherit  one  inch 
of  the  Starkey  estate  unless  he  either  reformed  or 
removed  himself  and  his  fellows  from  the  county. 
Sir  Lynam  took  alarm,  and  removed  himself  not 
only  from  the  county,  but  from  the  island  itself,  and 
for  seven  years  Starkey  and  Lady  Tliicknisse  were 
in  quiet. 

Shortly,  however,  before  the  time  at  which  this 
our  present  story  commences,  some  restless  demon  or 
other  sent  Sir  Lynam  back  to  his  old  hunting-seat, 
no  way  improved  either  in  character  or  manners;  and 
Mrs.  Betty's  letters  of  late  had  been  filled  with  the 
mad  pranks  of  Sir  Lynam,  and  the  misunderstanding^! 
between  himself  and  Lady  Thicknisse. 

"  Strange  indeed  is  it,"  said  one  of  Mrs.  Betty's 
letters,  "that  Sir  Lynam  sho\ild  go  on  in  this  Avay, 
when  he  has  such  a  frail  hold  on  Starkey — not  being, 
as  I  hinted  to  you  in  my  last,  its  rightful  heir.  My 
sister-in-law  makes  no  longer  any  secret  of  this  sin- 
gular affair  with  me,  and  I  can  now  give  you  a  cle-arer 
idea  of  it  than  1  was  able  to  do  in  my  last.  On  th« 
death  of  the  late  Sir  Sampson,  everybody  wondered. 


2(5  L7?TTHns   ANt>    NEW§. 

as  you  may  remember,  how  it  was  that  Starkey,  as 
Well  as  the  Hertfordshire  property,  did  not  go  to  the 
heir-at-law — but  the  reason  was  this.  Lady  Thick- 
misse,  in  her  researches  among  the  old  family  papers, 
had  found  a  singular  clause  in  the  will  of  Sir  Samp- 
son's great-uncle,  the  first  possessor  of  Starkey,  and 
the  amasser  of  the  family  wealth,  of  which  clause  X 
have  obtained  a  copy  from  Mr.  Twisleden.  It  runs 
thus : — 

"  'And  furthermore  I  devise,  that  after  the  third  iiv 
descent  from  me  the  testator,  the  freehold  of  Starkey, 
with  its  mansion,  commonly  called  Starkey- Hall  or 
Starkey,  together  with  all  therein  contained  of  family 
plate,  jewels,  and  other  personal  property  then  ex- 
isting, left  by  me,  together,  with  all  farms,  woods, 
mines,  fisheries,  &c.,  and  all  rights  and  appurtenances 
thereunto  belonging,  shall  descend  to  the  then  existing 
heir  or  heirs  direct,  male  or  female,  of  my  sole  sister 
Joan,  with  whom  I  had  a  quarrel  during  a  game  of 
cribbage,  on  the  twenty-fifth  day  of  December,  being 
Christmas  Day,  in  the  year  of  our  Loid  1712,  which 
said  Joan,  then  Merivale,  being  the  wife  of  John 
Peter  Merivale,  cordvvainer  in  the  city  of  London, 
died  in  indigence  in  the  parish  of  Marylebone,  London, 
on  or  about  the  21st  of  June,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord   1736,  leaving  two  sons  and  two  daughters.' 

*'  The  will,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  "  went  on  to  state 
many  particulars  respecting  this  unfortunate  Joan 
Merivale,  who,  it  seems,  had  in  vain  besought  recon- 
ciliation, and  had  even  came  up  to  Starkey  with  her 
children  for  that  purpose;  'when,'  says  the  will, 
*  in  pi-ide  and  unbrotherly  hardness  of  heart  the  said 
testator  closed  the  door  in  her  face,  for  which,  after- 


LLTTlJJtS   AM)    ^•E^vs.  2" 

wards,  when  it  was  too  late,  he  suffered  much  remo)-so 
and  penitence,  especially  when  he  lost  his  two  eldest 
children — the  one  by  fire,  and  the  other  by  water; 
and  that  therefore,  as  some  reparation,  he  willed  that 
the  two  next  generations  should  merely  hold  tlie 
property  of  Starkey  in  trust  for  the  direct  descendants 
of  the  said  Joan  Merivale  in  the  third  generation  ; 
and  that  in  case  of  there  being  none  such,  he  the  said 
testator  willed  that  the  said  property  of  Starkey 
be  sold  by  public  auction,  and  the  product  thereof  be 
placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Admiralty,  for  the  building 
of  ships-of-war.' 

"  Such  being  this  remarkable  clause,"  said  Mrs. 
Betty,  "  it  is  plain  enough  that  this  property  belongs 
not  by  riglit  to  Sir  Lynam.  V/hether  heirs  of  tliis 
unfortunate  Mrs.  Merivale  exist  now  I  know  not,  but 
the  late  Sir  Sampson  being  in  the  third  generation 
from  the  testator,  it,  in  obedience  to  the  will,  went 
into  otiier  hands.  The  will,  however,  had  been 
clearly  forgotten,  and  but  for  the  researches  of  Lady 
Thicknisse  herself,  would  probably  never  have  been 
looked  into  again.  Such  being  the  case,  however,  it  was 
evidently  the  interest  of  Sir  Lynam  to  keep  on  the 
most  friendly  footing  with  Lady  Thicknisse,  who  had 
such  a  terrible  secret  in  her  keeping,  and  who  had 
thus  the  means  of  as  completely  disinheriting  him 
as  if  the  property  were  bona  fide  her  own,  although 
she  had  not  the  power  of  choosing  her  own  heir; 
this,  of  course,  being  no  other  than  the  third  in 
direct  descent  from  this  unfortunate  Mrs.  Merivale. 

"  Sir  Lynam  does  not  believe  even  to  this  day  that 
Lady  Thicknisse  will  put  in  force  the  will.  Ho 
cannot  believe  it,  for  he  has  used  no  means  to  con« 


28  LETTERS   AXD    NEWS. 

ciliate  her,  and  only  the  last  week  bespoke,  from  a 
company  of  stroUmg  players,  the  penormance  of  a 
low-lived  play  in  her  name  ;  and  thus  when  she 
drovo  out,  by  mere  accident,  she  had  the  unspeakable 
annoyance  of  seeing  great  handbills  on  walls  and 
blacksmiths'  shops,  announcing  that  "  at  the  special 
request  of  Lady  Thicknisse,  of  Starkey,  the  favourite 
play  of  the  Miller  and  his  Three  ^Vives,  was  to  be 
performed."  Nothing  could  equal  her  displeasure  at 
this  audacious  use  of  her  name;  and  it  has,  I  have  no 
doubt,  been  a  means  of  determining  her  to  fulfil  the 
wishes  of  the  old  Sir  Timothy,  which,  in  my  humble 
opinioiL,  I  think  is  no  more  than  what  is  simply 
right.  She,  however,  I  hear  from  Mr.  Twisleden, 
has  made  up  her  mind,  and  nothing  you  know  after 
that  can  turn  her. 

"  "What  her  exact  plans  of  action  in  this  singular 
affair  will  be,  I  know  not.  My  opinion  is,  that  she 
will  not  allow  the  heir  or  heirs  of  Mrs.  Merivale  to 
know  what  fortune  is  theirs  during  her  own  lifetime ; 
and  that  certainly  would  be  the  most  prudent,  as, 
though  1  am  by  no  means  learned  in  such  things,  it 
appears  to  me  that  she  would  he  liable  to  vast  de- 
mands of  back-rents  and  such  like,  from  the  time  of 
Sir  Sampson's  death,  now  five-aud-thirty  years  since. 
It  is  a  strange  affair,  however,  and  one  which,  oneway 
or  another,  occupies  almost  all  !Mr.  Twisleden's  time. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  continued  Mrs.  Betty,  '"  \n\o  or 
what  this  Joan  Merivale's  descendants  are,  I  know 
not ;  the  greatest  secrecy  is  preserved  on  this  subject, 
although  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  Lady 
Thicknisse  has  had  her  eye  upon  them  for  several 
years." 


LETTERS    AND    NEWS.  29 

So  far  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse,  in  one  of  her  last 
letters. 

The  very  morning  after  the  evening  wliich  opened 
this  vohime,  we  must  see  Elizabeth  Durant  and  her 
mother  sitting  over  their  breakfast- table. 

"  VVell,  it  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the 
world  !"  exclaimed  the  mother. 

"  Most  strangely  extraordinary  !"  returned  Eliza- 
beth, glancing  still  at  the  letter  which  she  had  just 
hastily  read  aloud  to  her  mother.  "  Most  extraor- 
dinary ' " 

"  Dear,  dear !"  said  Mi"s.  Durant,  in  a  tone  of 
vexation,  "  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  born  fortunate  ! 
I  wisli  to  heaven  it  had  happened  to  you — but  you 
are  not  one  of  the  fortunate  sort,"  added  she,  with 
a  sigh. 

Elizabeth  continued  to  peruse  the  letter,  and  her 
motlier  sipped  her  cofFee  with  a  countenance  of  great 
dissatisfaction.  "  You  might  just  as  well  read  the 
letter  aloud,"  said  she  ;  "you  know  how  it  vexes  me 
to  have  any  one  reading  at  meals." 

Elizabeth  made  no  reply,  but  immediately  read  aa 
follows : — 

"■Starkey,  Oct.  10,  18 — . 

"  I  put  aside,  my  dear  god-daughter,  a  long  letter 
which  I  began  to  you  some  weeks  ago,  in  order  to 
have  an  entire  sheet  for  the  strange  news  I  have  to 
communicate  to  you  and  your  dear  mother. 

"  Of  Sir  Lynam's  late  goings-on  I  need  say  little 

more  than  that  the}--  have  been  such  as  they  have 

been  for  some  years  past ;  whether,  however,  Lady 

Thicknisse  had  any  returnings  of  affection  ttmards 

d2 


30  LETTERS    AND    NEWS. 

him  or  not  1  cannot  say,  but  she  took  it  into  her  head 
last  week  to  put  his  regard  to  her  to  a  very  singular 
test,  which  itself  originated  in  a  very  trifling  oc- 
currence. 

"  We  were  all  sitting  together  in  the  library,  Mr. 
Twisleden,  she,  and  I,  when  Jewel — you  remember 
Jewel,  her  little  pet  spaniel — fell  into  a  fit,  and  seemed 
at  the  point  of  death  ;  my  sister-in-law,  who  is  greatly 
attached  to  the  little  animal,  took  him  in  her  lap, 
supported  his  head,  and  shed  many  tears  over  him. 
In  half-an-hour  he  recovered,  liclfed  her  hand,  looked 
up  in  her  face,  and  by  all  little  means  in  his  power 
seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  show  his  affection  for  her. 
The  poor  little  creature  had  been  for  long  accustomed 
to  bring  out  of  a  certain  corner  her  warm  slippers  of 
an  evening,  she  being  troubled  with  cold  feet  towards 
night.  This  evening  he  went  as  usual  to  bring  them, 
but  he  crawled  along  with  a  drooping  head,  and  dim 
eyes — it  quite  affected  me  ;  but  what  was  most  sin- 
gular and  affecting  of  all  was,  that  he  laid  the  slipper 
down  before  her,  looked  up  in  her  face,  licked  her 
hand,  and  then  died.  His  last  sentiment,  if  you  can 
apply  that  word  to  an  irrational  creature,  was  attach- 
ment to  his  mistress. 

"  "\V^e  were  all  affected  extremely. 

** '  I  tell  you  what,'  said  Lad^  Thicknisse,  after 
some  time,  '  yon  fellow.  Sir  Lynam,  has  not  a  hun- 
dredth part  the  affection  for  me  of  this  poor  brute  ; 
he  would  be  glad  to  know  that  I  was  dead — and  yet,* 
added  she,  '  1  have  been  like  a  mother  to  him.' 

"  '  Nay,  nay,'  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  '  I  think  not  so 
ill  of  Sir  Lynam  as  that.' 

" '  I  wish  I  thought  well  of  him,'  said  she.    *  Tha 


LETTERS    AND    NEWS.  31 

death  of  this  poor  beast,'  began  she  again,  'haa 
touched  my  heart  deeply.  Would  to  God  I  knew 
that  Sir  Lynani  loved  me — ^that  I  knew  that  he  even 
would  shed  a  tear  for  my  death  !' 

'' '  He  is  much  attached  to  you,'  said  Mr.  Twisle- 
den — '  more  attached  than  you  think.' 

"  '  Heaven  forbid  !'  returned  she,  '  that  I  should 
wrong  any  one — that  I  should  wrong  him,  of  all 
men,  for  I  have  given  him  reason  to  expect  great 
things  from  me  ;  and  what  between  my  duty,  and  a 
lingering  affection  for  this  young  man,  I  am  neither 
easy  in  my  mind  or  in  my  conscience.  But  I  will 
try  him  once  more,'  said  she  ;  '  and  if  he  love  me  not, 
why  then  I  will  at  once  seek  for  respect  andfsgratitude 
from  strangers.' 

"  I  knew  what  she  meant  by  these  words;  but  I 
had  no  idea  of  the  scheme  she  would  make  use  of  to 
test  Sir  Lynam. 

" '  You  shall  ride  over,  said  she,  '  to-morrow 
morning  to  Sir  Lynam.  You  can  look  grave  enough, 
said  she,  with  a  smile  ;  '  look  your  gravest  and  saddest, 
and  say  to  him  that  his  worthy  relative,  Lady  Thick- 
nisse,  is  dead.' 

'•  Mr.  Twisleden  started,  and  laid  his  hand  on^her 
arm,  as  if  shocked  at  the  idea. 

*' '  Yes,'  said  she,  '  I'll  have  it  done.  Eulogise  me 
as  much  as  you  will ;  tell  him  of  my  affection  for 
him,  and  that  my  last  words  were  of  him;  and  if  he 
shed  but  one  tear,  may  God  forgive  me  my  many  sins, 
as  I  will  freely  and  fully  forgiv#  him !' 

"  It  was  not  for  me  to  give  my  opinion,  whatever 
it  might  be,  on  this  strange  idea.  You,  who  know 
her,  know  also  how  useless  opposition  would  have 


52  LETTERS    AND   NEWS. 

been  ;  nevertheless,  Mr.  Twisleden  said"  much  againsi 
it,  although  in  the  end  he  was  over-persuaded,  and  pro- 
mised  to  do  all  faithfully* 

"  Sir  Lynam  was  at  breakfast  with  three  of  his 

friends  the  next  morning,  when  the  old  lawyer,  with  a 

very  grave  countenance,  presented  himself  before  him. 

"  '  How  is  the  old  lady  ? '  asked  Sir  Lynam,  the 

moment  he  entered. 

"  Twisleden  sighed,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  '  Ah!  how  V  exclaimed  Sir  Lynam,  putting  at  the 
same  time  brandy  in  his  coffee. 

" '  She's  dead  ! — I'll  bet   you  any   money  she's 
dead  !'  exclaimed  one  of  his  friends. 

" '  Stajrkey's  your  own,   old  boy !'  said  another, 
clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"'Gentlemen,'  said   Twisleden,  'be  silent.      My 
business  is  with  Sir  Lynam,  and  with  him  alone.' 
'* '  We  are  all  friends  here,'  said  Sir  Lynam. 
"  '  Sir  Lynam,  then,'  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  '  I  am 
the  bearer    of   melancholy   tidings.      Your  worthy 
kinswoman.  Lady  Thicknisse,  is  dead !' 

"• '  Bravo  !'  exclaimed  the  three  friends,  in  one  voice. 
""  You're  a  rare  old  fellow  !'  said  Sir  Lynam,  to 
poor  Mr,  Twisleden. 

"^  And  her  last  words  were  of  you  !'  continued  he. 
'  Affectionate,  loving  words,  which  might  have  ^^Tung 
tears  from  a  stone ;  she  loved  you,  Sir  Lynam — 
indeed,  Sir  Lynam,  she  loved  you  very  much  ! ' 
"  '  Has  she  burnt  the  will?'  interrupted  Sir  Lynam. 
"  '  She  left  her  blessing  on  you,'  continued  Twisle- 
den, 'the  kindest  of  blessings  ;  and  her  prayer  waa 
that  you  would  remember  the  love  and  tenderness 
she  had  shown  you  as  a  boy,  and  that  you  would—' 


LETTEKS    AND    NEWS.  3d 

"  *Ha8  she  burnt  the  will  T  interrupted  Sir  Lynam 
again. 

" '  She  was  a  loving  frfend,  although  you  were 
unworthy  of  her,'  said  Twisleden  ;  '  and  all  is  as  you 
can  wish,'  added  he,  venturing  on  a  falsehood,  as  he 
declared,  because  he  wished  to  touch  his  heart,  if 
possible. 

"  '  The  will  is  destroyed,  then  V  said  he. 

"The  lawyer  nodded  assent,  and  then  added,  '  She 
loved  you.  Sir  Lynam — it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you 
this — loved  you  like  a  mother  !' 

'•  '  Pleasant  dreams  to  the  old  girl !'  exclaimed  he, 
nothing  moved ;  and  tlicn  ringing  the  bell,  ordered 
in  hot  meat  and  cold,  beer,  brandy,  and  ale,  '  that 
the  messenger,'  as  he  said,  '  of  such  rare  tidings  might 
eat  and  drink  to  his  heart's  content.' 

"  But  Mr.  Twisleden  could  neithel-  eat  nor  drink — 
he  declared  he  never  was  so  hurt  in  all  his  life  before. 

"  '  1  am  in  no  temper  for  meat  or  wine,'  said  he. 

"  '  That 's  no  reason  why  we  should  fast,'  said  one 
of  the  three  friends ;  so  Sir  Lynam  and  they  all  sat 
down  to  eat  and  drink,  and  talk  over  this  great 
good  news. 

"  Mr.  Twisleden  ordered,  therefore,  his  servant  and 
horses  to  the  inn,  and  after  an  hour's  rest  he  rode 
silently  away.  The  bells  were  ringing  merrily  as  he 
went  out  of  the  village,  and  boys  and  men  were  piling 
up  a  bonfire  before  Sir  Lynam's  gate. 

"  '  What  means  all  this  rejoicing  1 '  asked  he. 

"  '  Sir  Lynam  has  come  to  a  great  inheritance  ! ' — 
'  Sir  Lynam  makes  merry  Ijccause  old  Lady  Thick- 
nisse  is  dead  ? '  said  they. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Twisleden  told  us  all  this  with  tears  in 


34  LETTERS    AND    NEW9. 

his  eyes  ;   he   declared  that    Sir   Lynam's   conduct 
made  his  very  heart  ache. 

"  All  that  evening  he  and  Lady  Thicknisse  spent 
together  in  the  library.  On  the  next  evtwiing  she 
sent  for  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vesey,  orderea  in  the  old 
steward,  and  good  jNIrs.  Perigord  the  housekeeper,  of 
whom  you  know  we  have  so  high  an  opinion,  and  in 
presence  of  these,  having  taken  an  oath  of  secrecy 
from  them  during  her  pleasure,  she  made  Mr.  Twisle- 
den  read  the  will  of  the  old  Sir  Timothy,  which,  of 
course,  caused  the  greatest  amazement.  Mr.  T  v\'isle- 
den  made  his  remarks  on  the  will  as  he  went  on  ;  the 
opinion,  he  said,  of  the  first  lawyer  of  the  day  had  been 
taken  on  it — Sir  Lynam  was  not  the  rightful  heir.  'The 
rightful  heir,'  said  Lady  Thicknisse,  taking  the  words 
out  of  his  mouth,  '  is  one  on  whom  my  eye  has  been 
fixed  these  several  years — a  young  and  beautiful  girl, 
the  sole  daughter  of  Thomas  Franklin,  mercliant  of 
the  city  of  London,  who  was  son  of  the  second  son  of 
the  said  Joan  Merivale — the  eldest  son  dying  un- 
married, as  did  also  both  daughters;  documents  in 
proof  of  which  are  in  my  possession.'" 

"  You've  read  enough — you've  read  enough,  child,' 
said  Mrs.  Durant,  interrupting  her  daughter,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  vexation  and  annoyance. 

"  Dear  Alice  ! "  said  Elizabeth,  "  what  a  most 
wonderful  change  for  her !  She  looks  born  to  be  the 
mistress  of  Starkey  !  " 

"  I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake  about  it," 
said  Mrs.  Durant.  "  Franklin  is  by  no  means  an 
uncommon  name ;  and  sc  strange  it  is  that  they 
should  themselves  know  nothing  of  this  family  con- 
nection.    It  must  be  some  other  Franklins ]** 


MOIlK    LETtERS    AND    MORE    Mi\rs.  85 

*'  No,  tliei'e's  no  mistake  at  all,"  returned  Eliza- 
beth. '•  Mrs.  Betty  goes  on  to  say,  that  it  is  our  own 
friend,  Alice,  the  daughter  of  her  old  friend — but 
shall  I  not  .finish  the  letter  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  I've  heard  it  already,"  said  Mrs.  Durant, 
"  and  I  do  not  want  to  hear  it  agrain." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MORE    LETTERS    AND    BIORE    NEWS. 

After  taking  the  most  kindly  leave  of  Maitland 
in  the  glass-coach  which  conveyed  them  home,  Mrs. 
Franklin  and  her  daughter  found  the  card  of  Mr. 
Twisleden,  and  a  note,  on  the  drawing-room  table. 
The  servant  said  the  gentleman  who  left  them  was 
greatly  disappointed  at  not  finding  Alice  or  her  mother 
at  home ;  the  note  said  the  same  thing,  but  added 
that  Mr.  Twisleden  would  return  again  at  ten  thu 
next  morning,  as  his  visit  had  reference  to  most  im- 
portant business.  It  was  altogether  a  mystery  and 
an  excitement ;  the  name  of  Twisleden  was  unknown 
to  them,  for  if  they  had  heard  it  mentioned,  in  the 
many  conversations  they  had  had  with  Elizalx^th  and 
her  mother  about  Starkey,  it  had  never  fixed  itself  in 
their  memories.  "It  must  be  somebody  about  the 
broken  ring,"  said  Alice — "  Or  somebody  about  the 
shares  in  the  water-company,  which  were  entered  in 
your  name,"  said  her  mother — "  Or  those  shares  in 
the  Montgomeryshire  canal,  which  have  never  yci 
paid  any  dividend,"  said  Mr.  Netley. 


3C  MORE   LETTERS   AN1»   MORE    NEWS. 

Everybod}'-  speculated,  but  nobody  approached  the 
truth.  Eleven  hours,  liowever,  soon  slide  on,  even 
though  people  may  lie  awake  half  a  night  in  uncer- 
tainty and  doubt ;  and  so  ten  o'clock  came  in  due 
course  of  time,  and  with  it  Mr.  Twisleden,  punctual 
to  his  engagement. 

People  are  not  very  incredulous  when  they  are  to 
be  convinced  of  their  own  good  fortune,  however  un- 
looked-for it  may  be,  or  however  strange  the  channel 
may  be  through  which  it  comes  ;  nor  if  a  handsome 
estate  hangs  upon  it,  woudd  any  one  be  extremely 
angry  at  its  being  made  as  plain  as  daylight  that 
their  great-grandfather  was  a  shoemaker.  Both 
Alice  and  her  mother  declared  their  entire  ignorance 
of  the  fact ;  Mr.  Thomas  Franklin,  Alice's  father, 
had  been  mostly  abroad  with  his  merchant-ships ;  he 
had  said  nothing  of  his  grandfather,  but  his  widow 
and  his  daughter  were  quite  convinced  that  it  must 
be  as  Mr.  Twisleden  so  obligingly  asserted.  Yes, 
indeed,  it  is  the  most  easy  and  agreeable  thing  in  the 
world  to  believe  oneself  "  heir  to  a  great  fortune. 
And  yet,  after  all,  it  was  very  strange ;  strange  to 
have  been  for  so  many  years  a  person  of  so  much 
consequence  without  ever  suspecting  it — to  have  been 
for  so  many  years  an  object  of  interest  and  attention 
to  a  great  lady  so  many  miles  off,  who  all  the  while 
held  in  ward  for  one  property  to  the  amount  of  fifteen 
thousand  a  year!"-  So  thought  Alice,  looking  very 
serene  all  the  time,  whilst  Mrs.  Franklin  herself 
seemed  as  if  she  would  overwhelm  the  old  gentleman 
by  her  civilities. 

Mr.  Net  ley,  who  was  naturally  given  to  calcula- 
tion wherever  pounds,  shilling*^  and  pence  were  con- 


MORE    LETTERS    AND    MORE   lIEWs*.  37 

cemed,  and  who,  while  his  niece  looked  through  • 
sunshiny  prospective  to  her  fifteen  thousand  a  year, 
took  on  his  part  a  retrospective  glance  at  five-and- 
thirty  years  of  unpaid  income — in  fact,  ever  since  the 
time  of  the  late  Sir  Sampson's  death,  and  hinted,  in 
the  politest  manner  possi^jie,  something  to  that  pur- 
j)ose.  Mr.  Twisleden,  spite  of  all  his  professional 
tact,  looked  momentarily  confused,  but  Alice  and  her 
mother  unanimously  disclaimed  all  such  thought. 
They  were  at  this  moment  too  grateful — too  much 
penetrated  with  universal  charity,  to  dream  of  making 
any  claim  whatever  of  such  a  nature  ;  they  wondered 
at  Mr.  Netley  with  great  warmth  ;  and  he,  good  old 
man,  like  a  child  reproved  for  its  officiousness,  re- 
mained submissively  silent,  whatever  his  own  thoughts 
might  be. 

Alice  Franklin  received  at  once  into  the  very 
depth  of  her  soul  the  agreeable  and  flattering  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  the  undoubted  and  undis- 
puted heiress  of  Starkey,  of  which  she  had  heard  so 
much ;  that  she  Wiis  greater  even  than  the  great 
Lady  Thicknisse  herself;  that  she  could  command 
from  this  day  forth  fifteen  thousand  a  year;  that 
she  was  fit  to  mate  with  an  earl,  and,  moreover,  that 
she  was  young  and  beautiful — all  which  combined  to- 
gether were  enough  to  turn  a  head  much  wiser,  and 
to  warp  a  mind  much  stronger,  than  Alice  Frank- 
lin's. Without,  however,  censuring  Alice,  we  appeal 
to  thee,  gentle  reader  :  was  not  all  this  somewhat  too 
great  a  trial  for  any  human  nature  whatever  ?  But 
we  will  leave  that  question,  and  return  to  Alice. 

Whatever  her  secret  feelings  might  be,  and  how- 
ever in  the    end  all  this  great    good-fortune  might 


38        MORE  LETTERS  AND  MORE  NEWS. 

operate  upon  her  character,  nothing  could  be  morft 
graceful  and  becoming  than  her  demeanour  at  the 
present  time.  She  looked  her  loveliest ;  she  looked 
like  one  high-born  and  high-bred — like  one  who,  far 
above  the  station  which  she  had  hitlierto  occupied, 
would  dignify  that  to  which  she  was  now  called. 
Mr.  Twisleden,  old  man  as  he  was,  felt  himself  quite 
captivated  by  her  ;  whilst,  had  he  been  an  archangel 
descended  direct  from  heaven,  he  could  not  have  been 
made  more  of  than  he  was  by  them  all. 

What,  during  this  while,  were  Alice's  feelings 
towards  Henry  Maitland  ?  Ah  !  it  is  hard  to  say. 
She  was  not  a  girl  who,  out  of  the  abundant  warmth 
and  generosity  of  her  own  heart,  had  been  attached 
to  her  lover,  not  onl}''  for  his  own  excellence,  but 
because  he  was  so  deeply  devoted  to  her.  Alice 
thought  herself  superior  to  most  women,  and  even  had 
she  been  without  expectations  from  her  uncle  Netley, 
she  wo\ild  still  have  thought  that  she  honoured  Mait- 
land  in  promising  him  her  hand  ;  but  now,  she  felt 
as  much  above  him  as  heaven  is  above  earth.  In- 
voluntarily she  thought  of  her  broken  ring,  and  then, 
in  the  natural  remembrance  of  his  great  affection  for 
her,  she  wished  he  had  loved  her  less,  because  she 
knew  how  easy  it  would  be  for  herself  to  dissolve  the 
bond  between  them.  Her  uncle,  too,  though  he  said 
nothing,  thought  on  the  same  subject,  and  said  to 
himself,  "  I  always  knew  she  would  never  marry 
poor  Maitland  ! " 

"  Alice,  my  love," —  said  her  mother  to  her  that 
night,  after  they  had  made  hasty  preparations  to 
accompany  Mr.  Twisleden  to  Starkey  the  next  morn- 
ing,— "  you  should  leave  a  note  for  Henry  ;  he  was 


MORE  LETTERS  AND  MORE  NEWS.        39 

to  have  gone  with  us,  you  know,  to  the  Opera  to- 
morrow niglit ;  it  will  be  such  a  surprise  to  him  1 
Your  uncle  can  take  the  letter.  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  him  before  you  had  gone, — but  then,  you 
know,  he  can  follow  us  to  Starkey." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  said  Alice,  coldly  and  proudly — think- 
ing, as  it  were,  aloud. 

"  You  are  the  mistress  of  Starkey,  my  dear,"  re- 
turned her  mother.  *'  You  have  a  right  to  invite 
any  one  there,  more  especially  Henry.  Lady  Thick- 
nisse  will  like  him,  my  dear." 

"  Mr.  Maitland  must  wait  my  pleasure,"  said 
Alice,  in  an  under  voice,  and  then  sat  down  to  write 
a  hast}^  note,  which  she  intended  to  be  kind,  but 
which,  after  all,  was  cold. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  after  all,  "  said  Mrs.  Franklin, 
as  they  drove  along  the  North  road  the  next  morn- 
ing, "  you  never  wrote  a  note  to  Elizabeth  Durant, 
as  you  said  you  would.  Poor  thing !  I  am  afraid  she 
will  take  it  unkind — and  1  would  not  for  the  world, 
Alice,"  added  she,  "  tliat  you  should  appear  to  neglect 
your  friends." 

Alice  had  been  thinking  of  the  omission  with  regret 
herself;  "  But  I  really  was  so  occupied  yesterday," 
said  she,  ''  I  had  no  time  for  anything.  My  uncle 
Netley  will  call  on  her,  I  am  sure ;  he  will  want 
something  to  do  now  we  are  gone.  Poor  Elizabetli!" 
added  she  with  a  sigh,  thinking  with  a  feeling  akin 
to  deep  compassion  on  her  hopeless  industry,  which 
just  kept  her  above  want,  and  that  was  all. 

Let  us  turn  now  for  a  moment  to  Henry  Maitland. 
Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  on  him,  he  could  not  have 
experienced  a  greater  shock  than  he  did  on  receiving 


40        MORE  LETTKKS  AND  MORE  NEWS. 

Alice's  note.  It  gave  him  no  pleasure,  much  as  he 
loved  her.  Could  he  himself  have  endowed  her  with 
fifteen  thousand  a  year,  he  would  not  have  envied  the 
richest  monarch  in  Europe.  As  it  was,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  this  rich  inheritance  at  once  placed  an  im- 
passable gulf  between  them ;  and  all  that  the  kind 
old  Nehemiah  Netley  could  do,  could  not  remove  the 
load  of  suspicion  and  uncertainty  from  his  soul. 

Mr.  Netley  had  set  out  intending  to  go  to  Eliza- 
beth Durant's  as  soon  as  he  had  made  this  call ;  but 
he  remained  for  hours  with  Henry,  and  then  came  in 
Henry's  father,  the  rich  old  silversmith.  Very  diffe- 
rent, indeed,  was  the  effect  of  this  strange  news  on 
him.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  take  any  other 
than  a  golden  view  of  everything  ;  he  saw  at  once  his 
son  as  the  husband  of  Alice,  the  possessor  of  Starkey, 
and  began  to  turn  over  in  his  mind  all  kind  of  schemes 
and  plans  for  endowing  him  worthily.  He  would 
make  a  transfer  of  funded  property  to  him  ;  he  would 
make  a  deed  of  gift  that  very  day  ;  he  would  liberate 
him  from  every  connexion  with  trade,  excepting  in 
as  much  as  subsequent  share  of  profits  would  go.  Mr. 
Henry  Maitland  the  elder  was  generosity's  self ;  he 
had  always  liked  Alice;  he  fairly  adored  her  now; 
and  declared  that  he  would  himself  make  her  the 
present  of  such  a  ring  as  would  be  worthy  the  accept- 
ance of  the  heiress  of  Starkey.  The  idea  of  any 
change  of  feeling  on  her  part  never  once  entered  his 
head. 

'  There  is  something  wonderfully  infectious  in  a 
cheerful  spirit.  Henry  could  not  help  being  influ- 
enced by  his  father,  and  he,  too,  began  to  indulge  in 
bright  and  joyous  hopes.     The  two  old  gentlemen. 


MORE    LETXEnS    AND    JIORE    NEWS.  41 

therefore,  went  by  themselves  !o  the  Opera,  and  he 
remained  at  home,  to  pour  out  all  his  soul  in  a  letter 
to  Alice  at  Starkey. 

The  fii-st  news  which  any  of  the  London  friends 
had  from  Starkey  was  in  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Betty  tc 
Elizabeth  Durant,  and  was  as  follows  : — 

'^  Starkey,  Oct.  27. 

"  The  first  calm  moments,  my  dear  youag  friend, 
which  I  can  command,  I  dedicate  to  you,  in  order 
that  you  and  your  good  mother  may  be  duly  informed 
of  the  painful  and  distressing  event  which  has  just 
occurred.  My  sister-in-law  is  dead — died  last  evening 
about  six  o'clock. 

"  But  in  order  that  you  may  have  a  clear  idea  of 
this  melancholy  affair,  I  will  endeavour  to  give  you  a 
detailed  account  of  all  that  has  happened  since  my 
last.  In  my  own  mind,  I  must  confess  that  I  was 
not  at  all  satisfied  with  the  trick  that  was  put  on  Sir 
Lynam — it  seemed  to  me  at  the  time  like  a  tempting 
of  Providence ;  but  I  did  not  feel  it  my  place  to 
interfere,  because  Lady  Thicknisse  had  always  been 
used  to  her  own  ways,  and  took  interference  ill  from 
any  one. 

"  The  report  that  she  was  dead  spread  far  and 
wide,  as  was  but  natural,  and  upon  whicli  she  never 
could  have  calculated,  so  much  annoyed  and  troubled 
did  she  appear  by  it.  She  had  hoped,  no  doubt,  that 
Sir  Lynam  would  have  evinced  some  sorrow;  she 
had  a  hankering,  it  is  my  opinion,  to  be  again  recon- 
ciled with  him,  and  she  wished  to  make  this  the 
occasion  of  it ;  but  however  that  in  reality  might  be, 
she  was  extremely  wounded  by  his  conduct,  and  got 
a2 


42  WORE    LETTERS    AND    MORE    NKWS. 

into  a  very  irritable  state  of  mind.  Then,  too,  there 
was  a  deal  of  necessary  excitement  about  making  Sii 
Timothy's  will  known,  although  as  yet  that  was  only 
done  in  her  own  hoiJsehold,  as  it  were ;  and  although 
she  had  all  needful  documents  prepared,  and  at  hand 
for  use  whenever  she  might  determine  upon  taking 
these  decided  steps,  yet  still  there  was  a  deal  to  be 
done  at  last ;  and  then,  when  everything  really  was 
ready  for  Mr.  Twisleden  to  set  ofi'  on  his  journey  to 
London,  whether  she  was  timid  or  undecided,  or 
whether  she  had  misgivings,  I  know  not,  but  certain 
it  was  the  carriage  was  ordered  out  four  different 
times  before  she  would  finally  consent  to  Mr.  Twisle- 
den going.  Poor  lady  !  it  had  been  her  intention  for 
many  years  to  retain  firm  possession  of  the  property 
till  her  death ;  she  was  now,  as  it  seemed,  about  to 
give  it  out  of  her  hands  during  her  lifetime.  It  seemed 
even  to  me  at  that  time  a  hazardous  step,  as  far  as 
her  own  interests  went,  although  I  confess  that,  as  a 
question  of  right,  it  was  no  more  than  her  duty. 
However,  an  awful  Providence  was  at  work  in  it  all, 
and  whatever  He  does  is  best. 

"  At  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  just  as  it  was 
getting  dusk,  Mr.  Twisleden  set  off  post  to  London ; 
she  sat  up  till  twelve — although  she  had  prayers  as 
usual,  at  ten,  and  then  went  to  bed.  At  three,  how- 
ever, she  rang  her  bell  violently,  and  ordered  an 
express  to  be  prepared  instantly,  to  ride  for  life  and 
death  to  London  after  Mr.  Twisleden,  with  a  letter, 
which  she  must  have  written  during  the  night.  She 
breakfasted  at  eight  on  chocolate,  as  usual,  and  seemed 
tolerably  calm  ;  but  at  eleven  she  had  a  sudden  apo- 
plectic fit,  which  affected  the  vhole  of  one  side,  and 


MORE    LETTERS    AND    3I0RE    NEWS.  43 

deprived  her  of  speech.  Dr.  Law,  who  was  inime- 
diatc-ly  summoned,  was  in  the  utmost  alarm,  and  gave 
no  hope  wliatever  of  her  life  in  case  of  a  second 
attack,  which  he  apprehended.  Lh\  Vescy  was  sent 
for,  and  administered  the  sacrament,  which,  though 
she  was  quite  speechless,  she  took  with  apparent  com- 
fort, which  was  an  unspeakable  satisfaction  to  me. 
Dr.  Law  remained  with  her  daring  the  night.  The 
next  day  she  made  signs  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
which  were  given  her.  She  made  inquiries  whether 
any  tidi'.igs  had  been  received  from  Mr.  Twisleden. 
Poor  lady  !  she  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  time,  and 
seemed  greatly  surprised  to  find  he  had  been  gone, 
comparatively  speaking,  but  a  few  hours.  She  seemed 
very  restless  and  uneasy  in  her  mind,  but  would  com- 
municate nothing  either  to  Mr,  Vesey  or  the  physi- 
cian. All  her  thoughts  were  of  Mr.  Twi.sleden  and 
the  express  which  she  had  sent  after  him.  My  idea 
was  that  the  letter,  which  she  liad  sent  thus,  was  to 
countermand  her  directions  to  Mr.  Twisleden,  and 
that  she  was  now  uneasy  at  having  done  so,  which 
idea  seemed  justified  by  what  followed.  On  the  fourth 
day  she  had,  in  part,  recovered  her  speech  ;  and  a 
letter  arriving  that  evening  from  Mr.  Twisleden,  she 
expressed  great  eagerness  to  know  its  contents.  I 
steadied  her  head  between  my  hands  to  enable  her  to 
read  it.  Mr.  Twisleden  stated  that  his  mission  had 
been  most  successful,  and  that  himself  and  the  young 
heiress  would  be  at  Starkey  in  a  couple  of  days  at 
most  after  the  receipt  of  this.  He  said  nothing  of 
the  letter  which  she  had  sent  express  after  him  ;  he 
either  had  not  received  it,  or  had  not  acted  upon 
it.     Mr.  Tvvisleden's  letter  seemed  to  give  her  great 


14       MORE  LETTERS  AND  MORE  NEWS. 

Batisfaction.  '  It  is  all  right ! '  said  she  ;  'all  right 
I  shall  die  in  peace.'  She  then  ordered  herself  ta 
be  raised  in  bed,  sent  for  her  house-steward  and 
housekeeper  to  her  bedside,  and  gave  orders  to  them 
to  get  all  in  readiness  for  the  reception  of  their  new 
mistress.  It  was  a  very  affecting  thing ;  her  voice 
was  unsteady,  and  she  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  lier 
mind  was  clear  and  calm ;  there  was,  too,  a  gentle- 
ness and  a  collectedness  in  her  eye,  which  assured  my 
mind  that  she  was  at  peace  with  her  own  conscience. 

"  '  Get  all  things  ready,'  said  she  to  her  servant?, 
*■  for  this  is  a  greater  guest  who  is  now  coming  than 
has  ever  been  received  since  the  days  of  the  late  Sir 
Sampson.  I  shall  not  be  long  with  you,'  said  she. 
'  I  am  on  my  way  to  another  mansion,  which,  I  trust, 
is  also  prepared  for  me.  Your  new  mistress  is  on  the 
way  ;  she,  even  now,  approaches  the  door.  The 
young  and  the  old  have  very  different  ways  :  things 
will  be  chani^ed  here — with  new  masters  come  new 
iimnners  ;  but,  my  friends,'  said  she,  '  be  as  faithful  to 
your  new  mistress  as  you  have  been  to  me  —  and  may 
God  bless  you  ! ' 

"  There  was  not  a  dry  eye  amongst  us.  The  two 
good  old  servants  kissed  her  hand,  and  wept  like 
children.  Nobody,  of  course,  made  any  reply  to 
her  ;  and  those  were  her  last  words. 

"  Two  hours  afterwards  she  had  a  second  attack; 
and  at  three  o'clock  the  next  day  died — yes,  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  carriage  drove  into  the  court 
which  brought  us  our  new  mistress. 

•'  This  has  been,  as  you  may  believe,  a  great  shock 
to  me — but  God's  will  be  done 


MORE  LETTERS  AND  MORE  NEWS.        45 

"  October  29. 

"  I  have  been  prevented  finishing  my  letter  by  a 
slight  attack  of  indisposition  ;  and  now,  two  days  after 
my  former  date,  I  take  up  my  pen  to  conclude. 

"  My  poor  sister-in-law  is  to  be  interred  next  Thurs- 
day Miss  Franklin,  who  appears  wonderfully  collected 
and  clear-headed  for  so  young  a  person,  has  ordered 
the  greatest  honours  to  be  paid  to  the  remains  of  her 
predecessor.  AVo  hear  \.\h.i  Sir  Lynam  has  given  it 
out  that  he  shall  appear  as  chief  mourner — a  piece  of 
audacity  wliich  sui-prises  me  even  in  him.  Miss 
Franklin — I  cannot  call  her  Alice,  as  I  used  to  do  in 
my  letters  to  you,  for  her  manners  even  to  me,  her 
niother's  old  friend  and  your  godmother,  do  not  en- 
courage such  familiarity. — Miss  Franklin,  then,  seemed 
at  first  greatly  shocked  and  affected  by  the  dea^  of 
my  poor  sister-in-law.  '  It  made  her  arrival  at 
Starkey  ill-starred,'  she  said;  nor  will  she  see  the 
corpse,  wliich,  perhaps,  is  only  natural,  for  the  young 
shrink,  as  if  instinctively,  from  death  and  pain. 

"'It  was  upwards  of  forty  years  since  f  had  seen 
her  mother  :  we  were  then  young  girls  at  school ; 
and  afterwards,  as  you  have  heard,  kept  up  a  young 
lady  friendship  and  correspondence,  which  lingered 
on  for  ten  years,  and  then  died  a  natural  death — 
until  some  little  revived  by  your  acquaintance  with 
her  and  her  daughter  through  my  means.  I  still  see 
some  traces  of  her  early  self,  especially  in  the  eyes. 
She  looks  remarkably  well  for  her  years,  and  is  cer- 
tainly, as  you  say,  very  stout. 

"■  Great  changes  will,  no  doubt,  be  made  at  Starkey. 
but  as  yet  nothing  is  said  of  what  kind.  Miss  Frank- 
lin, I  dare  say,  does  not  at  ail  know  yet  what  she 


4<J  MORE    LETTERS    ASD    MORE    NEWS. 

will  do.  I  see  very  little  of  her,  as  she  keeps  very 
much  in  her  own  room.  Her  harp  is  come  dowi), 
and  I  have  heard  a  very  sweet  voice  accompanying  it. 
She  is  very  Irandsome,  and  seems  remarkably  well- 
instructed  ;  but  there  is  something  cold  in  h^r  man- 
ners, which,  in  one  so  young,  does  not  quite  please 
m« ;  but,  after  all,  I  find  she  is  not  so  young  as  I  at 
first  supposed  her.  I  fear,  however,  that  she  is  too 
calculating  and  prudential  to  be  very  amiable — but 
we  shall  see.  Such  a  mistress  as  this  will  make 
Starkey  far  and  wide  renowned. 

*•'  My  sphits  are  by  no  means  good  at  this  time. 
I  have  many  fears  and  misgivings,  I  hardly  know 
why.  I  fear  changes  of  any  kind.  I  am  an  old 
v/omau,  and  for  the  remainder  of  my  days  I  covet 
rest.  It  would  pain  me  extremely  to  leave  Starkey. 
I  was  born  here;  I  have  lived  all  my  days  here; 
this  place  seeni's  a  part  of  myself;  and  I  feel  that  it 
would  be  like  sundering  mind  and  body  to  remove 
me.  For  upwards  of  forty  years  I  have  slept  in  one 
chamber.-  I  am  foolish  as  a  child,  for  the  very  knots 
in  the  boarded  floor,  and  the  very  cracks  in  the 
window-panes,  are  to  me  like  old  friends.  But  God's 
will  be  done.  Man  proposes  and  He  disposes  ;  that  has 
ever  been  the  ordination  of  things,  and  it  is  best. 
"  Yours  ever,  my  dear  god -daughter, 

''  Betty  Thicknisse." 

"  P.S.  —  I  should  think  there  is  no  doubt  but  that 
Miss  Franklin  will  respect  the  will  of  her  prede- 
cessor; for  though,  perhaps,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  she 
had  no  right  to  will  any  part,  even  of  her  own  savings, 
still  i    think  what  few  annuities  there  were  she  will 


MORE    LETTER?    AND    MORE    NEWS  47 

continue,  though  I  am  distressed  to  find  no  mention 
in  the  will  of  annuities,  not  even  your  dear  mother's; 
and  wliat  few  legacies  and  such  like  she  has  bequeathed 
to  old  servants,  will  and  ought  to  be  paid," 

"  What  changes  will  the  new  mistress  of  Starkey 
make  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Betty,  anxiously,  to  herself;  and 
"  Wiiat  changes  will  she  make  ? "  asked  the  alarmed 
Mrs.  Durant,  aloud,  to  her  daughter ;  "  What's  to 
become  of  me,  for  you  see  the  old  lady  has  made  no 
provision  for  me — or  if  Alice  should  not  continue  the 
annuity  1" 

"  Prosperity  mostly  makes  a  young  heart  gene- 
rous," said  Elizabeth.  "  I  think,  besides,  that  Alice 
never  would  discontinue  your  annuity.  She  knows, 
as  well  as  we  do,  how  important  it  is  to  you." 

"  And  you  remember  her  wish  the  other  night," 
said  Mr.  Netley,  who  had  entered  unperceived,  and 
who  had  heard  her  last  \\  ords.  "  You  remember  how 
she  wished  it  might  be  in  her  power  to  benefit  you." 

Mr.  Netley  had  heard  of  Lady  Thicknisse's  death, 
and  he  brouglit  now  a  newspaper  with  him,  containing 
an  account  of  this  "  Immense  and  Unexpected  In- 
heritance," as  it  was  headed. 

"  Neither  I  nor  Henry  Maitland  have  yet  heard 
from  her,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  My  rrieco 
Franklin  wrote  on  their  arrival.  I  want  Henry  to 
go  down  there  next  week." 

"And  you,"  said  Elizabeth,  "will  not  you  go  too?'' 

"  No,  no,"  returned  he,  "  I  shall  wait  and  see  how 
she  goes  on  ;  prosperity  tries  people  more  than  ad- 
versity ;  and  if  she  don't  please  me  I  shall  never  go 
near  her." 


A   PATERNAL   SCHEME   FUUSTRATED^ 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    PATERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED. 

Long  before  this  extraordinary  case  of  "  Immense 
and  Unexpected  Inheritance"  had  been  spread  by  the 
newspapers  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Eng- 
land, it  reached  the  ears  of  the  old  lawyer,  Sir  Thomas 
Durant ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  become  acquainted 
with  it,  than  he  thought  his  own  thoughts  on  it,  and 
schemed  his  own  schemes. 

But  before  we  make  known  the  old  lawyer's  specu- 
lations, we  must  introduce  to  our  readers  his  son 
Philip,  in  the  midst  of  his  little  household. 

Sir  Thomas  and  his  son  were  of  very  opposite 
characters,  besides  which,  the  former  was  one  of  those 
fathers  whose  affection  seems  to  cool  towards  their 
sons  as  they  approach  manhood.  Perhaps  they  fear  in 
them  a  sort  of  rival,  or  perhaps,  having  no  longer  the 
same  influence  and  mastery  over  them  as  when  they 
were  boys,  they  regard  them  as  insurgents,  who,  to  be 
kept  in  order,  must  be  kept  under  with  the  strong 
arm  of  power.  However  that  might  be.  Sir  Thomas, 
who  had  doted  on  his  son  as  the  apple  of  his  eye  in 
childhood,  had  now  to  all  appearance  not  only  cast 
him  off  to  fate,  but  had  steeled  his  heart  stedfastly 
against  him  ;  whilst  all  this  time  one  of  the  most 
striking  characteristics  of  the  son  was  the  most  re- 
markable attachment  to  his  father.  Blind  to  his 
faults  he  certainly  was  not,  but  his  affection  for  liim 


A    PATERNAL    SCHEME    FKUSfRATED.  49 

«vas  almost  an  instinctive  passion.  The  disunion  with 
his  father  Ining  like  a  cloud  over  his  existence. 

One  of  the  crowning  offences  of  the  son  had  been 
the  befriending  the  incendiary,  Richard  Durant. 
One  misunderstanding  grew  upon  another,  and  at  lust 
widened  to  what  appeared  an  irreconcileable  breach  ; 
and,  subsequently,  after  several  unhappy  months  ol 
discord,  Philip  left  his  father's  house,  determined  to 
Commence  his  own  professional  career  untrammelled, 
and,  if  possible,  unoffendingly,  and  take  whatever  op- 
portunities offered  of  reconciliation.  Mont  lis,  however, 
upon  months  went  on,  and  Sir  Thomas,  offended  by 
his  son's  independence,  which  to  him  looked  like 
defiance,  seemed  more  than  ever  to  set  his  face 
against  him, 

Philip,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the  meantime  mamed ; 
it  was  the  most  unwise  step  he  could  have  taken,  as 
Elizabeth's  mother  had  said  over  and  over  again,  more 
particularly  as,  whatever  other  qualities  the  young 
wife  might  boast  of,  she  had  neither  fortune  nor  con- 
nexions to  recommend  her. 

Philip  Durant  was  not  worldly-wise,  and  in  marry- 
ing he  must  have  done  it  either  uncounting  of  conse- 
quences or  in  defiance  of  them.  Still,  as  yet,  although 
he  had  carefully  kept  his  marriage  from  the  know- 
ledge of  his  father,  he  had  not  repented  of  it.  Recon- 
ciliation with  his  father,  it  seemed  to  him,  would 
make  his  eartlily  felicity  complete ;  and  the  more  he 
kissed  liis  own  infant  son.  the  more  did  his  heart  warm 
towards  his  own  parent. 

Gertrude,  Philip's  young  wife,  was  sitting  one 
morning  beside  her  sleeping  child,  when  her  husband 
entered  the  room. 

F 


60  A    PATERNAL    SCHE3IE    mUSTRATED. 

"  You  look  happy,  dearest,"  said  she  ;  "  you  must 
be  the  bearer  of  good  news." 

"  A  note  from  my  father,"  said  he,  "  bids  me 
come  to  him  this  evening ;  this  is  the  first  step  he 
has  himself  made.  I  cannot  help  prognosticating 
good." 

*'  Ah  ■  if  he  will  bnt  be  kind  to  us — if  he  will  but 
let  me  love  hinL  "  said  she.  "  I  never  knew  my  own 
father  ;  but  I  could  love  yours  with  all  the  affection 
of  a  daughter  ;  and  this  sweet  child  of  ours —  "  said 
she,  lifting  the  light  covering  from  his  face  :  "  Is  your 
father  fond  of  children,  Philip  ?  " 

Philip  stooped  down  and  kissed  his  boy ;  he  re- 
membered when  he  had  been  a  little  child,  and  na^ 
sat  on  his  father's  knees,  and  the  thought  filled  his 
eyes  with  tears. 

"  Sharpie  brought  the  note  to  me,"  said  he,  after  a 
pause,  "  and  said  that  now  was  the  true  time  for 
reconciliation.  I  never  liked  the  man,"  said  he, 
"  never  believed  him  my  friend  ;  but  my  father  has 
not  hitherto  made  any  advances,  and  I  augur  well 
from  this." 

"  Perhaps  he  feels  his  health  decline,"  said'Ger- 
trude.  "  Affection  which  has  been  cool  in  middle 
life  often  revives  with  age  or  infiiTnity.  Oh,  how 
happy  we  would  make^your  father,  would  he  but  let 
us  !  I  would  so  patiently  bear  any  ill-humour  from 
him  ;  I  would  indulge  all  his  whims ;  I  would  sing 
to  him,  I  would  play  to  him — you  say  he  is  fond  of 
music-  I  would  teach  my  boy  to  love  him,"  continued 
she,  affection  lighting  up  her  whole  Jbeing  ;  "  I  would 
teach  him  to  sooth  him — to  win  his  very  soul  from 
him,  as  children  only  can  !     Oh,  Philip,  how  we  will 


A    PAIERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED.  61 

all  love  that  dear  old  man,  and  how  happy  we  will 
make  him  ! " 

Philip  kissed  his  wife,  and,  filled  with  happy  hopes, 
hastened  to  his  father  as  soon  as  the  day  began  to 
darken. 

Sir  Thomas  sat  in  his  dingy  old  room,  among  his 
old  law-books  and  papers  as  he  had  done  years  before, 
when  his  son  entered. 

"  We'll  let  bygones  be  bygones,"  said  the  father, 
returning  the  pressure  of  his  son's  hand  somewhat 
warmly.  "  I  want  to  spe^di  to  you  now  with  regard 
to  the  future." 

Philip  seated  himself,  and  awaited,  not  without 
anxiety,  his  father's  words. 

"  You  have  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  inheritance 
which  has  so  unexpectedly  come  to  the  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Franklin — to  your  cousin  Alice  ?  " 

Philip  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  You  had  some  little  fancy  for  her  some  years  ago," 
said  the  father ;  "  perhaps  have  so,  even  yet." 

"  Miss  Franklin  is  a  very  handsome  girl,"  remarked 
Philip,  no  little  alarmed  at  the  tendency  of  his 
father's  werds. 

"  That's  cool,"  said  Sir  Thomas  ;  '•  but  look  you, 
Philip,  it  is  ray  will  and  pleasure  that  you  marry 
this  same  Alice  Franklin." 

"  I  know  what  Starkey  is,"  continued  he,  seeing 
his  son  indisposed  to  answer.  "  Mrs.  Franklin  will 
make  no  objection  to  the  match ;  you  are  good- 
looking  enough,  and  on  good  terms,  I  make  no 
doubt,  with  th-em  all.  I  can  make  the  match  worth 
even  the  attention  of  the  lady  of  Starkey." 


52  A    PATERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED. 

**  This  is  what  you  have  to  propose  to  me  1 "  said 
Philip. 

"  On  these  conditions,"  returned  the  father,  "  1 
will  overlook  what  is  prsst.  You  hesitate  ;  you  are 
low  in  the  world,  Philip  ;  you  want  Rioney ;  that 
shall  matter  nothing,  I  will  provide  for  you  amply." 

"  I  cannot  comply  with  your  conditions,"  returned 
Philip  ;  "  I  cannot  marry  Alice  Franklin." 

"  Cannot !  "  repeated  his  father.  "  I  say  you  shall. 
JVIayhe,"  added  he  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  j'ou 
have  some  foolish  love-affiiir  in  hand.  This  is  not 
tiie  age  of  romance,  Philip ;  every  one  looks  to 
himself.  In  a  month's  time  Alice  Franklin  will 
be  beset  with  suitors.  Come,  nov»',  be  wise :  you 
have  won  both  the  mother  and  daughter  by  all  your 
fine  notions  of  honour  and  integrity ;  your  very 
quarrel  with  me,  and  the  occasion  of  it,  made 
them  think  all  the  better  of  you.  I  am  getting  old, 
Philip,"  said  he  in  a  milder  voice.  "  I  have  laid  out 
])lans  for  my  old  age.  I  will  re-build  Stanton 
Combe — Starkoy  is  a  fine  estate.  There  has  been 
disunion  long  enough  between  us." 

Philip  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  for  his 
father's  words  had  touched  him  deeply. 

"  I  did  not  think,  Philip,"  said  the  old  lawyer, 
"  that  you  would  have  needed  all  this.  I  thought 
you  loved  me." 

"  Alice  is  engaged  to  another,"  at  length  said  he, 
glad  to  find  an  impediment,  and  not  strong  enough 
ftt  that  moment  to  avow  the  truth  as  regarded  himself. 

"Engaged,  is  sheT'  returned  Sir  Thomas,  with  a 
sneer.     "  The  Alice  Franklin  of  yesterday,"  said  he, 


A   PATERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED.  68 

"  is  not  the  Alice  FKinklin  of  to-day  ;  the  hekess  of 
Starkcy  Avill  have  otlier  views  in  marriage  than  the 
heiress  of  old  Netley  of  Ludgate-hill !  But/'  said 
he,  dropping  his  voice  into  a  whisper  which  had 
Bomething  fearful  in  it,  "  perhaps  the  impediment  lies 
in  yourself;  perhaps  the  sister  of  Richard  Durant. — " 

'•  No,"  said  Philip  ;  "  no  such  engagement  exists,  or 
ever  has  existed,  between  me  and  Elizabeth  Durant." 

"Good!"  returned  his  father.  "I  believe  you; 
those  words  have  the  tone  of  truth  in  them  :  and  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Philip ;  I  know  how  poor,  how 
miserably  poor,  are  the  Durants.  Do  you  marry  the 
heiress  of  Starkey,  and  I  will  take  care  of  the 
Durants  myself.  On  my  word, — and  I  never  forfeited 
my  Avord, —  I  will  settle  two  hundred  a-year  on 
mother  and  daughter,  and  all  prosecution  of  the  son 
shall  cease.     Bygones  shall  be  bygones  ! " 

Poor  Philip  !  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
in  fearful  communion  with  himself.  Then  was  the 
time,  if  such  a  time  were  ever  to  come,  in  which  he 
was  to  repent  of  his  marriage.  He  saw  in  quick 
mental  vision  things  as  they  might  have  been  ;  the 
beautiful  Alice  Franklin  as  his  wife,  and  himself  as 
the  posseosor  both  of  Starkey  and  Stanton  Combe  ;  he 
saw  speedy  reconciliation  with  his  father,  and  ease 
and  worldly  prosperity  around  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  and  what  was  it  ?  a  dreaded  secret  to  be 
unfolded  —  his  father's  wrath — his  curse  perhaps, 
which  would  strike  him  down  from  the  verge  of 
union  on  which  he  now  stood.  He  glanced  at  his 
father,  and  saw  his  gray  hair  and  his  thin  clveek,  and 
a  tide  of  affection,  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before, 
rushed   over   his   soul   towards    him.      O    that   he 


64  A    PATKIINAL    SCHEME    FKUhlKA  1  Kl*. 

might  have  thrown  himself  at  his  feet,  Iiavc  craved 
his  forgiveness,  and  have  annulled  the  past !  So 
reasoned  the  weaker  part  of  his  nature.  Then  he 
thought  on  the  love,  the  heauty,  the  patience,  the 
goodness  of  Gertrude — of  v\'hat  she  had  hitherto 
been  to  him — of  what  she  would  yet  be  ;  he  thought 
of  her  witli  her  mild,  angelic  beauty — the  mother  of 
his  boy  ;  he  thought  of  her  in  the  midst  of  poverty, 
and  then  he  thought  of  Alice  Franklin  and  Starkey ; 
and  his  warm,  affectionate  heart  clung  to  his  wife. 

"  Father,"  said  Philip,  re-seating  himself,  and 
speaking  in  a  clear,  low  voice,  "  I  am  married ;  I 
am  not  only  mamed,  but  I  am  a  father." 

Sir  Thomas  looked  as  if  he  did  not  credit  his 
senses. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "  what  I  tell  you  is  true.  I 
am  married.  Be  a  father  to  us,  to  me,  to  my  wife, 
and  my  boy  !  God  in  heaven  knows,"  said  he,  "  how 
earnestly  1  have  longed  for  reconciliation  with  you, 
and  for  your  blessing  !  Refuse  it  not  to  us  !  Let  me 
bring  my  w-ife  and  child  to  you,  let  us  kneel  down 
before  you  and  receive  your  blessing  !  You  are 
getting  old,  father ;  let  us  love  you — let  us  make 
your  home  lich  ia  lOve — let  us  gather  about  your  old 
age  affection  and  joy." 

"Married,  are  you?"  returned  Sir  Thomas,  in  a 
voice  of  concentrated  displeasure ;  "  I  tell  you,  then, 
I  will  not  see  your  wife.  As  you  have  brewed  so 
you  may  bake ;  and  further  than  this,  I  tell  you 
that  I  will  not  exchange  a  word  with  you.  You 
may  starve  ;  you  may  die — you  and  yours,  and  I  will 
not  waste  thought  upon  you." 

"Father!"  exclaimed  Philip. 


A    PATERNAL   SCHEME    FRUSTRATED.  65 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  interrupted  Sir 
Thomas,  rising,  and  pa^.e  with  passion  ;  '-not  a  word 
Henceforth  you  and  I  have  nothing  in  common  ;"  and 
with  these  words  he  left  the  room. 

Philip  sat  he  knew  not  how  long  in  that  room. 
A  throng  of  agitating  feelings  rushed  through  his 
bosom.  He  knew  his  father  too  well  to  liope  for 
reconciliation  now,  if  at  all ;  yet,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  never  did  he  court  it  so  much  as  then.  Never 
had  he  felt  before  how  capable  his  heart  was  of 
affection  towards  his  parent,  and  how  strong  his 
affection  really  was.  The  human  heart  lives  through 
a  long  experience  in  but  a  short  space  of  time. 
Philip  Durant  seemed  then  most  emphatically  to 
learn  all  that  man  owes  to  man  in  every  relationship 
of  life;  what  parent  owes  to  child,  what  child  to 
parent,  and  what  husband  and  wife  are  to  each  other. 
It  was  a  baptism  of  affection  and  agony,  which  called 
forth  and  strengthened  every  human  sentiment  in 
his  soul. 

The  sound  of  his  father  s  heavy  coach  drawing  up 
to  the  door  recalled  him  to  himself. 

Sir  Thomas  and  his  son  passed  from  the  house  at 
the  same  moment,  without  exchanging  a  word ;  the 
one  entered  his  carriage,  the  other  walked  slowly 
homeward. 

""  Drive  on  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Sir 
Thomas  to  the  footman  who  waited  at  the  steps  for 
directions. 

"  Which  way  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  No,  drive  first  to  Doctors'  Commons,"  said  Sir 
Thomas. 

"  W  hat  mad  prank  has  your  father  been  play- 


6C  A   PATERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED. 

ing?"  asked  Neheniiah  Nctley  of  Philip  the  next 
morning,  as  he  entered  his  chambers  with  the  morning 
paper  in  his  hand.  "  Of  all  fools,"  said  he,  "  there 
are  none  like  olU  ones  !  "  and,  laying  the  paper  before 
liim,  he  pointed  to  a  particular  paragraph. 

Philip  read,  but  not  aloud :  "  Romance  in  real 
LiFK. — A  most  extraordinary  marriage  took  place 
last  night,  about  eight  o'clock,  the  particulars  cf 
which,  as  nearly  as  can  be  gathered  from  report,  are 
as  follows :  — 

"Sir  T —  D — t,  a  lawyer  of  the  oldest  standing 
and  reputation,  and  who,  according  to  the  opinion  of 
gentlemen  of  the  long  robe,  is  not  very  far  from  the 
bench  itself,  having  had  a  misunderstanding  with  his 
son,  who,  as  report  says,  has  married  without  the 
consent  of  his  father,  resolved  likewise  to  take  unto 
himself  a  wife,  and  that  without  consent  of  the  son. 
Accordingly,  having  possessed  himself  of  a  special 
license,  he  ordered  his  coachman  to  drive  along  the 
streets  of  London  for  half  an  hour,  by  his  watch,  and 
then  to  stop  at  the  corner  of  the  first   street  which 

presented  itself,  and  which  happened  to  be . 

Here  the  learned  gentleman  alighted,  having  made  a 
vow,  as  he  afterwards  declared,  to  marry  the  first 
woman  he  met  who  would  take  a  husband  on  such 
conditions.  We  presume  some  little  discrimination 
was  used,  however,  on  the  occasion  ;  for  the  young 
lady  to  whom  '  the  question  was  thus  abruptly 
popped,'  is,  we  hear,  very  pretty — one  Mary- Ann  Jones, 

barmaid  at  the  Golden-Cross  tavern,  in street. 

The  young  lady  in  question  having  listened  to  the 
learned  gentleman,  and  finding  no  objection  to  a  hus- 
band with  a  baronet's  title,  and  no  small  wealth  into 


A    PATERNAL    SCHEME    FRUSTRATED.  57 

the  bargain,  consented,  nothing  loth.  The  happy  pair 
adjourned  tlierefore  to  the  carriage,  which  vvas  in 
waiting,  and  l)eing  driven  to  the  Golden-Cross  tavern, 

were  united  by  the  clergyman  of  St. ,  who  was 

sent  for  on  tlic  occasion,  and  who  received,  we  hear, 
no  small  fee  for  his  services. 

'•  The  happy  bridegroom  is,  we  understand,  eighty- 
two,  and  the  blooming  bride  eighteen."  * 

Poor  Philip  felt  sick  at  heart  as  he  read  the  vulgar 
slang  of  this  astounding  paragraph.  In  the  agony 
of  the  moment  he  thought  of  New  Zealand,  Van 
Dicmen's  Land,  and  the  wilds  of  America,  with  in- 
tense longing. 

"Oh  that  I,  and  Gertrude,  and  the  child  were 
there  ! — were  anywhere  but  here,  to  be  a  laughing- 
stock to  the  vulgar, — to  be  crushed,  and  ]uinished, 
and  humiliated  thus,  by  one  that  we  would  have  died 
for  !"  said  he,  with  an  aching  heart. 

*  A  marriage  contracted  under  precisely  t'lu'se  circnmstanccs 
occurred  about  forty  years  ago  in  London.  The  author  does  not 
recollect  the  name  of  tlie  gentleman  ;  the  girl  he  married,  how. 
ever,  was  one  Sarali  Becket,  a  barmaid  at  a  tavern  in  tlie  City. 
Her  motlKr  was  well  known  to  tlie  author,  and  lived  i.n  an 
almshouse  at  Uttoxcter.  The  marringe,  as  would  be  most  pro- 
bable, was  an  unhappy  one.  The  wife's  conduct  was  h:id,  and 
after  a  year  or  two  she  was  sepaiatcd  from  her  husband,  on  a 
small  annuity.  The  author  has  frequently  seen  her  when  on  a 
^isit  to  her  mother,  to  whom  slie  was  kind  :  she  was  then  near 
Foriy,  a  stout,  showy  -woman,  the  very  personification  of  tawdiy 
tnilj;arity. 


TWO    RIVAL    LOVERS 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TWO   RIVAL    LOVERS    AND    AN    ACHING    HEART, 

As  a  sudden  and  violent  shock  will  at  once  restore 
a  drunk-ard  to  his  sober  senses,  so  did  the  actual  state 
of  affairs  at  Starkey  operate  on  the  prodigal  Sir 
Lynam  Thicknisse.  His  first  sentiment,  perhaps, 
was  indignation  at  the  trick  which  had  been  put 
upon  hiui ;  and  most  desperate  were  the  vows  of  ven- 
geance he  uttered  upon  the  agent  of  this  trick,  poor 
old  Mr.  Twisleden.  To  the  surprise  of  his  friends, 
however,  this  spirit  of  resentment  died  away  after 
the  first  ebullition,  and  then  he  sunk  into  what  ap- 
peared sullen  quiescence. 

His  jolly  friends  rallied  him;  jeered  him  ;  tried  to 
make  him  think  light  of  what  had  happened  ;  poured 
out  wine  for  him  ;  rattled  the  dice  in  his  ears  ;  sung, 
laughed,  and  talked  ;  but  Sir  Lynam  remained  sad 
and  serious.  He  who  had  never  been  thoughtful 
before,  pondered  deeply  now,  and  the  more  he  thought, 
the  more  changed  were  the  views  he  took  of  all  that 
surrounded  him, — nay,  even  of  himself;  new  objects 
of  ambition  started  up  before  him — new  desires  were 
created  in  him. 

Sir  Lynam,  however  he  had  acted  the  part  of  a 
prodigal,  was  no  fool,  nor  was  he  one  infirm  of  pur- 
pose ;  he  thought  and  thought,  and  for  three  whole 
days,  apart  from  his  friends,  took  council  with  him- 
self and  determined  his  plans  of  action. 


ANl>    AK    aching    HEAikf.  69 

On  the  day  before  that  fixed  upon  for  the  inter- 
ment of  the  late  Lady  Thicknisse,  therefore,  he  in- 
vited all  his  friends  to  dine  with  him  ;  and  the  greatest 
rejoicing  was  occasioned  among  tlicm  in  consequence, 
for  all  naturally  supposed  that  he  had  overcome  his 
vexation,  and  was  now  about  to  drown  its  memory  in 
wine. 

There  never  had  been  a  more  sumptuous  dinner 
provided  in  that  hunting-lodge  than  on  that  day,  and 
at  six  o'clock  Sir  Lynam  sat  down  with  his  friends, 
not  one  of  whom  was  not  instant!}'  struck  and  silenced 
by  the  grave,  determined  countenance  of  the  host. 

■•'  But  he  is  a  wag,"  said  they;  "  he  has  some  merry 
prank  in  his  head,  which  is  only  to  come  forth  all 
the  brighter  for  this  show  of  solemnity." 

Sir  Lynam  ate  with  his  guests  and  pledged  them — 
but  that  sparingly,  and  spite  of  the  efforts  of  every 
one  to  be  gay,  the  dinner  was  as  sad  as  a  funeral  feast. 

After  dinner,  when  the  attendants  were  gone,  and 
he  was  left  alone  with  his  friends,  he  thus  addressed 
them  t — 

"The  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse,"  said  he,  "whom 
you  all  knew,  is  dead  ;  this  is  his  funeral  dinner.  His 
heir  now  stands  among  you,  and  asks  you  to  pledge 
his  memory."  Tlie  glasses  were  all  filled,  and  the 
speaker  continued.  "  The  late  Sir  Lynam,  like  all 
men,  had  no  doubt  his  virtues,  but  his  faults  and  his 
follies  far  outweighed  them ;  the  second  Sir  Lyn&m, 
like  a  wise  man,  will  take  warning  by  the  faults  of 
his  predecessor, — he  will  retrieve  them,  he  will  be  his 
counterpart !  Gentlemen,  you  all  knew  Sir  Lynam 
the  first— perhaps  you  loved  him.  He  gambled,  he 
drank,  he  spent  freely,  he  lived  only  for  the  present 


wo  'T'^O   UIV,4L   LOVFKS 

hour,  and  so  that  that  was  gay  he  troubled  himseU 
no  farther.  Gentlemen,  Sir  Lynani  tlie  first  had 
bad  councillors — had  reckless,  profligate  associates  j 
they  drank  his  wine,  they  spent  his  money,  they 
made  him  lose  a  goodly  inheritance.  Sir  Lynam  the 
second  is  wiser  than  his  predecessor.  He  will  none 
of  these  !  He  will  spare  where  the  other  spent ;  he 
will  drink  water  where  the  other  drank  wine ;  he  will 
go  to  church  where  the  other  went  to  the* tavern  !  The 
friends  of  the  first  Sir  Lynam  can  he  none  of  his ! 
Gentlemen,  let  us  drink  to  his  memory." 

The  glasses  were  emptied,  emptied  in  silence — for 
all  were  offended  and  confounded,  and  knew  not  what 
to  say  ;  and  after  a  pause  Sir  Lynam  again  spoke. 

"  Gentlemen,  the  present  Sir  Lynam  is  no  more 
the  past  than  to-day  is  yesterday.  In  the  name  of 
the  late  Sir  Lynam,  I  thank  you  for  your  friendship 
to  him — my  way  of  life  will  henceforth  be  changed, 
and  I  need  you  not ;  I  have  taken  council  with 
myself,  and  I  find  that  I  need  you  not !      ^ 

"It  is  inhospitable  to  dismiss  a  guest  before  he 
is  ready  to  depart ;  it  is  likewise  a  breach  of  good 
manners  for  a  guest  to  stay  when  the  host  is  weary 
of  him.  A  good-night  to  you  therefore,  gentlemen, 
and  a  pleasant  journey,  whenever  you  may  depart ! 
For  myself,  I  go  to  Starkey  to-morrow,  to  attend  the 
funeral  of  the  late  Lady  Thicknisse;"  and  with  these 
words,  and  a  low  bow.  Sir  Lynam  left  the  room. 

If  there  had  been  profound  silence  during  his  pre- 
sence, a  clamour  of  tongues  succeeded  his  departure. 
That  he  was  in  the  most  resolute  earnest,  admitted 
not  of  a  doubt ;  but  how  strange  was  this  conduct ! — 
this  abrupt  dismissal  of  them — hov/   unlike   him- 


AND    AN    ACHING    HEAllT.  61 

self!  TliC  gay,  reckless,  random  Sir  Lynam,  ho\^ 
was  he  changed  !  All  were  disappointed,  all  were 
in  despair — for  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  could 
afford  to  lose  a  lavish  patron  like  him.  How  inhos- 
pitable, how  imgentlemanly,  how  queer  it  was ! 
The  butler,  the  valet,  and  many  another  servant  too, 
was  sumnioned — and  "  Is  Sir  Lynam  mad,  or  is  he 
drunk,  or  is  this  some  trick  of  his?"  were  questions 
which  assailed  them  ;  but  the  butler  and  the  valet, 
and  every  domestic  about  the  place,  had  his  grievance 
to  complain  of  too — for  all  had  received  their  dis- 
charge. The  groom  told  that  the  hunters  were  to 
be  sold  ;  tlie  butler  that  the  wine  must  be  going  to  be 
sold  too,  for  that  Sir  Lynam  had  himself  taken  count 
of  every  bottle;  the  valet  said  that  a  suit  of  the 
deepest  mourning  had  come  home  for  his  master,  and 
that  lie  would  not  look  even  at  the  new  suits  which 
had  just  come  down  from  London  two  days  before. 
The  lodge,  they  said,  was  to  be  shut  up,  and  they 
had  a  notion  that  Sir  Lynam  was  going  to  live  at  the 
parson's. 

"God  in  heaven!"  exclaimed  the  friends,  and 
drank  deeply  that  night  at  least,  to  indemnify  them- 
selves for  the  future. 

Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse,  in  his  carriage,  followed 
the  hearse  of  his  deceased  relative  as  chief  mourner, 
and  the  day  after  he  besought  permission  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  new  lady  of  Starkey. 

Alice  had  heard  for  years  of  the  wild  Sir  Lynam, 
and  knew  of  his  last  act  of  disregard  and  disrespect 
to  her  predecessor  ;  great,  therefore,  was  her  surprise 
at  liis  appearance  at  the  funeral — greater  still  at 
his  intrusion  on  her  privacy,  as  she  now  felt  his  visil 

G 


62  TWO    RIVAL   LOVEltS 

to  be.  She  pictured  him  in  her  own  mind  a  rude, 
lawless,  profligate,  who  was  capable  of  erery  ineivi* 
lity,  and  perhaps  indecorum,  even  to  her.  Never- 
theless she  was  curious  to  see  him,  so  gathering  her 
mother,  Mrs.  Betty,  and  Mr.  Twisleden,.  as  a  sort  of 
body-guard  about  her,  she  allowed  the  late  heir- 
expectant  to  present  himself  before  her.  She  had 
fancied  him  in  person  a  blustering,  red -faced,  ne'er- 
do-weel,  disreputable-looking  person,  whom  it  was 
a  sort  of  discredit  to  be  seen  with ;  how  great  then 
was  her  surprise  to  see  before  her  a  remarkably  hand- 
some, slender  young  man,  with  a  low,  prepossessing 
voice,  and  an  expression  of  the  deepest  melanclioly 
in  his  countenance,  which,  together  with  his  mourn- 
ing dress,  and  the  air  of  almost  timidity  Avith  which 
he  approached  her,  as  if  awed  by  her  presence, — to 
say  nothing  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  under 
which  he  presented  himself  before  her, — sent  a  thrill 
to  her  heart,  and  an  involuntary  tear  to  her  eye. 

Alice's  imagination  was  instantly  excited ;  her 
romantic  feelings  were  interested.  This  then  was  the 
person  into  whose  inheritance  she  had  so  singularly 
stepped — who  had  been,  as  it  AA-ere,  disinherited  by 
her  I  She  felt  someway  as  if  she  had  injured  him; 
she  was  sorry  for  him ;  she  wished  to  set  him  at  ease 
with  her,  to  gratify  him  in  some  way  or  other,  to 
interest  him  in  herself,  to  make  him  think  her  not 
unworthy  of  her  fortune  •  she  even  wished  to  gain 
some  influence  over  him.  She  did  not,  in  short, 
know  what  exactly  were  her  definite  feelings  regard- 
ing him  ;  but,  at  all  events,  she  never  had  been  more 
charming  than  she  was  then. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  he  made  a  second  call 


AND    AN     ACHING    HEART.  63 

and  tliat  with  many  apologies  for  his  want  of  cere- 
mony, in  the  evening  too.  Alice  graciously  accepted 
every  apology,  and  bade  him  welcome — in  truth,  she 
was  glad  to  see  him.  They  all  sat  together  like  a 
family  party.  Sir  Lynara  was  perfectly  delightful, 
80  much  01  the  gentleman  :  then,  he  had  travelled  so 
much,  and  could  be  really  quite  entertaining.  The 
display  of  his  accomplishments  piqued  her  into  exhi- 
biting hers  in  return.  She  sat  down  to  her  harp,  and 
Oh,  how  bewitching  could  not  Alice  look  at  her  harp! 
She  found  that  lofty  room  suited  her  voice ;  she 
thought,  at  the  same  moment,  that  she  was  mistress 
of  that  room  and  of  all  Starkey,  that  she  was  beauti- 
ful, and  that  Sir  Lynam  was  gazing  on  her  with  eyes 
of  unspeakable  admiration ;  and  she  sang  with  a  con- 
sciousness of  })0\ver  which  electrified  even  herself. 

AVhilst  she  was  singing,  however,  she  thought  on 
Henry  Maitland,  for  this  was  his  favourite  song. 
"  AVell,  well!"  were  her  second  thouglits  :  "what 
of  him  at  this  moment?  the  past  and  the  future  are 
ahke  indistinct ;  but  for  the  present — I  know  what  is 
my  object  at  this  moment — I  must  and  will  gain  an 
influence  over  this  man — he  shall  love  me,  come 
what  will." 

"  Good,  good  !"  said  the  crafty  Sir  Lynam  to  him- 
self, as  he  returned  that  night  to  the  Thicknisso 
Arms,  where  two  rooms  were  always  reserved  for  his 
accommodation.  "All  will  go  on  right.  I  know  what 
I  am  about.  Had  she  been  as  ugly  as  sin  1  wuuld  have 
married  her  :  as  she  is, — lucky  Sir  Lynam  !*' 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  her  mother,  some  few 
rreeks  afterwards,  as  they  two  were  sitting  together, 
"  Sir  Lynam  has  just  now  passed  the  gates,     1  bid 


«4 


TWO    RIVAL    LOA'ERS 


you  beware  of  what  you  are  about  with  regard  to 
that  gentleman.  Don't  forget  the  old  song — '  to  be  off 
with  the  old  love  before  you  begin  with  a  new.'  " 

Alice  sighed,  but  all  the  while  was  arranging  her 
beautiful  hair  before  a  mirror. 

"  You  must  not  forget,  m}'  dear  girl,  your  engage- 
ment with  Henry,"  continued  her  mother.  "He  is  an 
excellent  young  man,  and  most  warmly  attached  to 
you." 

"  I  know  what  I  am  about,"  returned  Alice, 
wishing  all  the  while  in  the  depth  of  her  own  heart 
that  slie  had  fairly  done  with  the  old  love,  to  whom 
she  was  beginning  to  be  quite  indifferent.  Her 
thoughts  were  something  like  this:  ""  1  never  did 
thoroughly  love  him,  and  I  ought  not  to  have  bound 
myself  to  him.  How  strange  it  was  about  the  ringl 
l  knew  well  enough  that  I  never  was  to  have  him. 
Poor  fellow  !  though ;  I  wish  he  could  only  be  as 
indifferent  to  me  as  I  to  him!"  She  then  thought  of 
her  uncle  Netley,  and  what  he  would  say  if  she 
broke  with  Maitland — she  thought  of  Elizabeth 
Durant,  and  what  she  would  think  too. 

New  circumstances  alter  in  many  cases  our  esti- 
mate not  only  of  people  and  things,  but  of  right  and 
wrong  also.  It  was  thus  with  Alice  :  she  thought  of 
her  uncle  Netley,  and  of  her  friend  Elizabeth  Durant, 
and  of  what  they  would  say  supposing  she  were 
faithless  to  her  former  lover,  and  she  felt  at  that 
moment  almost  indifferent  to  their  opinion — or  "  at 
least,"  thought  she,  "  their  opinion  would  very  little 
matter  to  me  in  the  end.  I  only  wish,  however,  that 
poor  Henry  would  transfer  his  affection  to  Elizabeth 
Durant." 


ANP    AN    ACHING    HEART.  G5 

"  My  dear,  you  should  write  to  Elizabeth  Ihirant," 
said  her  mother,  just  as  if  her  thoijghts  had  been  fol- 
lowing the  course  of  her  daughter's  ;  "  she  will  think 
it  very  unkind  of  you  to  neglect  her  thus ;  and  do 
tell  her  that  you  will  con-tinue  her  mother's  annuity 
during  her  life." 

"  Yes,  that  I  will,"  said  Alice  ;  "  but  don't  you 
think  I  should  make  it  a  hundred?  I  can  so  well 
afford  it — and  poor  Elizabeth !  she  is  to  be  pitied  !'* 

Mrs.  Franklin  seconded  her  daughter's  suggestion 
warmly.  "  1  am  glad,  my  love,  that  you  have  thought 
of  that ;  for  though  a  hundred  a  year  is  a  mere 
nothing  to  call  an  income,  yet  to  those  who  have 
hitherto  only  had  fifty,  it  is  a  nice  thing.  I  hope 
you  will  write  immediately." 

"  I  v.'ill,"  said  Alice ;  "  very  soon  I  will :  and  1 
will  get  Mrs.  Betty,  who  told  me  to-day  that  she  had 
a  letter  to  Elizabeth  in  hand,  to  make  their  minds 
easy  about  it." 

"  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse  is  here,"  said  a  servarnt. 

"  Show  him  into  the  library,"  said  Alice,  slightly 
blushing:  "see  that  we  have  a  goodiire  ;  and  let  us 
have  chocolate  in  as  well  as  coffee." 

Mrs.  Franklin  wondered  silently  to  herself  why 
her  daughter  ordered  in  chocolate;  she  did  not  remem- 
ber, as  Alice  had  done,  that  Sir  Lynam  a  few  evenings 
before  had  spoken  accidentally  of  his  preference  for 
shocolate. 

''  I  have  got  a  letter  from  my  niece  Franklin,"  said 
Nehemiah  Netley  to  Henry  Maitland,  a  few  days 
after  this ;  "  she  tells  me  what  a  sensation  her 
daughter  is  creating  in  the  neighbourhood.  Old  Lady 
Thicknisse  seems  in  a  fair  way  of  being  forgotteo 
G  2 


66  TWO    RIVAL    L0\  EUS 

among^st  them.  She  tells  me,  too,  what  a  fine  }>lace 
Starkey  is,  and  that  Alice  has  already  appropriated 
a  room  for  me  when  I  visit  her.  She  tells  me,  too, 
that  Sir  Lynam  is  mighty  civil  and  agreeable.  Alice 
had  fancied  him  a  sort  of  bluebeard  monster,  and  he 
turns  out  to  be  an  Adonis.  I  advise  you  to  go  and 
look  after  your  affaii-s  up  in  the  North,  my  friend, else 
you'll,  maybe,  lose  your  mistress." 

Maitlana  had  vraited  for  permission  from  Alice  to 
visit  her.  It  was  now  a  month  since  she  had  left, 
and  he  had  received  but  one  letter  from  her,  and  that 
was  cold  and  hurried :  she  complained  of  having  so 
much  to  do  and  to  think  of,  so  much  to  arrange  and 
so  much  to  inquire  into,  that  she  had  no  time  to  write 
more  ;  and  he,  who  wished  to  ))elieve  her  tvue — who 
was  willing  even  to  deceive  himself — waited  with  the 
humility — we  say  nothing  of  the  patience — of  the 
deepest  devotion,  in  the  vain  hope  that  the  day  would 
come  when  she  might  have  time  to  spare  for  him. 

"  I  have  not  common  patience  with  you,  Maitland," 
said  old  Netlcy,  a  week  later ;  "  you'll  get  no  per- 
mission from  her  to  go  to  Starkey.  If  she  is  not 
worth  looking  after,  why,  give  her  up  at  once ! " 

Maitland  took  the  coach  accordingly,  and  in 
somewhat  more  than  twelve  hours  reached  the  county 
of  Durham. 

What  a  thousand  pities  it  is  that  a  worthy,  upright 
man  cannot  build  up  self-confidence  on  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  worth  and  integrity  !  that  he  cannot 
feel — as  all  assuredly,  in  another  state  of  being,  must 
come  to  experience — that  nobility  of  mind  is  before 
nobility  of  birth,  and  that  a  pure,  upright  heart  is 
of  more  mtrinsic  value   than  the  richest  rent-roll. 


AND    AN    ACHING    HEART.  67 

N^ever  did  human  being  moralise  moi-e  in  this  strain 
than  did  poor  Maitland,  as  he  neared  Starkey.  At 
last,  thought  he,  what  does  all  my  philosophising  and 
moralising  signify?  I  am  nothing  but  the  son  of  a 
gold-and-silversmith,  who,  though  he  is  reckoned 
passingly  rich,  and  most  respectable  in  his  ward,  is, 
after  all,  notiiing  more  than  a  shopkeeper — what, 
then,  am  I  in  comparison  with  Alice,  the  mistress  of 
Starkey  and  its  fifteen  thousand  a-year?  It  was  a 
humiliating  thought.  There  was  a  deal  of  talk 
among  the  coach-passengers  about  the  new  lady  of 
Starkey,  as  they  approached  her  neighbourhood.  She 
seemed  to  have  excited  the  most  intense  interest,  and 
to  have  created  a  universal  sentiment  in  her  favour. 
Her  beauty  and  her  prepossessing  manners  were 
warmly  extolled ;  and  the  liveliest  fear  w.-is  expressed 
with  regard  to  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse's  influence  over 
her. 

"  Ah !  see,  there  is  Starkey  Hall,"  said  an  old 
Durham  gentleman  to  his  neighbour;  "  no,  now  it 
is  hid  from  view :  you  will  see  it  again  at  the  next 
opening." 

Maitland,  who,  though  so  intensely  and  painfully 
interested,  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
looked  out  with  almost  a  sickening  feeling  for  the  next 
opening.  Anon,  and  there  stood  the  old,  proud  Hall 
of  Starkey  before  him.  He  heard  not  the  remarks 
of  those  around  him  ;  he  involuntarily  closed  his  eyes, 
and  felt  as  if  he  were  crushed  down  into  nothingness. 

Never  had  he  loved  so  madly,  so  blindly,  as  since 
he  had  lost  some  degree  of  hope :  it  was  not  for  her 
wealth  that  he  loved  her,  but  for  her  own  precious 
self.     "  Would  to  Heaven,"  said  he,  "  that  she  were 


68  TWO    RIVAL    LOVERS 

a  beggar  on  the  highway — that  she  were  penniless 
and  homeless,  that  1  might  then  prove  the  reality  of 
my  affection  for  her  !  Ten  thousand  times  rather 
would  I  take  her  as  she  was,  the  niece  of  good  old 
Netley,  than  as  the  mistress  of  this  proud  place  ! " 

Once  the  idea  occurred  to  him  of  presenting  him- 
self ])efore  her,  and  releasing  her  at  once  from  he? 
promise  to  him.  But  then  came  the  terrible  idea- 
suppose  she  accepted  his  release  ;  and,  Oh,  how  blank 
— how  barren — how  desolate  would  not  life  be  to  him 
without  her  !  He  was  not  heroic  enough — or  rather, 
perhaps,  he  was  not  disinterested  enough — to  risk  his 
happiness  on  such  a  throw  ;  and  who  can  blame  him  ? 

*'  No,"  said  he,  in  that  passionate  self-communion  ; 
"  faint  heart  never  deserved  fair  lady  !  I  will  assert 
my  own  right  to  her  boldly — I  will  win  her  if  I  have 
the  power ;  and  when  she  is  mine — loving  her  for  her 
own  sake  as  1  do — how  I  will  devote  myself  to  making 
her  live  happy  !  Not  an  angel  out  of  heaven  shall 
be  happier  than  I  will  make  her,  if  a  love  stronger 
than  death  can  do  anything." 

Strengthened  by  a  more  worthy  self-estimate,  and 
with  a  heart  made  lighter  by  the  most  generous  and 
disinterested  affection,  Henry  Maitland  stood  before 
Starkcy  on  that  very  evening  when  Alice,  her  mother, 
and  Sir  Lynam  were  drinking  chocolate  together. 

Sir  Lynam  was  taking  a  volume  of  the  Topography 
of  Hertfordshire  from  the  shelves  as  the  large  New- 
foundland dog,  and  the  mastiff,  and  the  hound  began 
to  bark  in  chorus,  as  Maitland  approached  the  princi- 
pal entrance. 

"  And  this,"  said  Sir  Lynam,  leaning  down  over  the 
back  of  the  sofa  on  which  Alice  sat,  and  presenting  the 


AND    AN    ACHING    HEART-  69 

book  open  before  her  ;  "  this  is  the  view  of  my  house 
in  Hertfordshire;  this  is  the  south  front — the  avenue, 
which  is  here  just  indicated,  is  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long." 

"  It  is  a  fine  old  place,"  said  Alice,  turning  the 
book  to  her  mother,  who  was  sitting  beside  her. 

"  The  house  is  larger  than  this  of  Starkey,  although 
the  estate  is  less.  It  is  pure  Elizabethan — you  would 
grea-tly  admire  it." 

"  There  is  so  much  detail  in  these  old  Elizabethan 
edifices,"  said  Alice,  again  looking  at  the  plate. 

''  A  gentleman  is  here,"  said  a  servant,  presenting 
a  card  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Mr.  Maitland,"  said  Alice,  in  a  low  voice,  her 
countenance  undergoing  a  change,  and  her  heart 
beating,  but  not  with  pleasure. 

"  Dear  mo,  Mr.  Maitland  ! "  repeated  her  mother, 
in  that  low,  quiet  tone  which  expresses  anything  but 
welcome  ;  "  but  he  must  not  be  kept  waiting,  Alice. 
Do  bring  him,"  said  she  to  the  servant. 

The  moment  after  Maitland  entered.  To  fly  to 
her — to  clasp  her  to  his  heart — was  his  first  impulse, 
spite  of  the  imposing  influence  of  place  and  circum- 
stance ;  for  within  a  room's  space  of  Alice  he  forgot 
that  she  was  mistress  of  Starkey,  and  he  but  a  trades- 
man's son.  Something,  however,  far  more  depressing 
and  repelling  than  wealth  and  station,  had  he  felt 
these  ever  so  painfu.lly,  prevented  him  from  doing 
more  than  offering  his  hand  when  they  met — and  that 
was  in  Alice  herself.     It  was  a  miserable  meeting  ! 

"  And  how  are  you,  Mr.  Maitland,  and  how  are 
our  Lond-on  friends  ?   how  are  my  uncle  and  Eliza- 


70  TWO    RIVAL    LOVERS 

beth  Durant  ? "  asked  she,  after  a  moment  of  awk- 
ward silence. 

""'  Oh  !  for  Heaven's  sake,"  he  would  have  said, 
''  speak  not  to  me  of  other  people,  and  above  all 
things,  speak  not  with  that  voice  ! "  bat  he  said  it 
not ;  he  answered  her  calmly  of  that  which  she  asked 
for.  Sir  Lvnam  stood  by  her  side,  as  if  he  had  a 
right  to  be  there,  and  though  he  said  nothing,  ho 
stared  on  Maitland  as  if  he  wondered  what  he  had 
come  for ;  and  all  that  time  she  said  not  one  word  to 
set  him  at  his  ease — to  make  him  feel  as  if  he  were 
welcome.  Never  may  true  lover  feel  as  poor  Mait- 
land felt  then ! 

About  a  week  after  this  time  Elizabeth  received 
the  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse. 

"  Star  key,  Noveinber  the  15  th. 

"  My  dear  young  Friend, — Nothing  within  the 
last  half-century  has  created  such  a  sensation  in  this 
part  of  the  country  as  these  late  events  at  Starkey. 

"■'  Miss  Franklin,  no  doubt,  has  written  to  you  of 
her  way  of  life  here,  but  still  she  is  too  much  occupied 
to  be  a  good  correspondent ;  therefore  I  shall  tell  you 
all  which  I  think  can  interest  you,  without  troubling 
myself  as  to  whether  you  have  heard  of  it  before  or 
no.  Besides  this,  I  think  Miss  Franklin,  as  yet, 
knows  not  what  she  is  about,  or  what  is  going  on 
around  her.  As  yet  she  is  like  a  person  who  has 
suddenly  been  hurried  vip  to  a  vast  eminence,  and  is 
then  told  to  look  around  and  comprehend  everything; 
she  is  out  of  breath,  she  neither  knows  this  nor  that— 
■wherc  she  is,  nor  whether  she  stands  upon  firm  ground 


ASt)    AN    ACHING    HEART  VI 

or  not.  I  all  this  while  am  like  a  dweller  on  the 
hill-top,  who,  from  long  observation,  and  long  ac- 
quaintance with  the  land  all  round,  can  say  where 
lies  this  point  and  where  that — on  which  side  lies  a 
precipice,  and  where  a  morass — and  more  than  that, 
who  by  looking  merely  on  cloud  or  mist,  or  even 
sunshine  itself,  can  say  what  indicates  fair  weather 
and  what  storm.  Thus  I  look  on  what  is  passing 
around  me,  and  witliout  venturing  to  do  more  than 
whisper  now  and  then  a  warning  word,  think  to 
myself  my  own  thought,  and  tremble — not  for  my- 
self, but  for  one  so  young,  so  fair,  so  inexperienced, 
so  tempted,  and — pardon  me,  Elizabeth — so  faulty 
as  your  friend. 

"  Miss  Franklin  is  a  young  person  to  please,  nay 
almost  to  fascinate,  at  first  sight :  she  is  the  fasliion — 
nay,  the  very  rage  here,  and  every  day  adds  to  the 
crowd  of  her  worshippers.  All  this  however  is  but 
natural ;  for  so  many  are  striving  to  win  her,  from 
interested  motives.  Starkey  never,  even  in  my 
brother's  lifetime,  was  so  much  visited  as  it  is  now. 
My  poor  sister-in-law  is  already  forgot.  You  will, 
however,  be  pleased  to  know,  that  her  will  will  in 
every  instance  be  literally  fulfilled  ;  the  old  servants 
have  their  choice  of  remaining  in  their  situations  or 
of  retiring,  and  all  legacies  will  be  paid.  Mr. 
Twisleden  is  her  councillor  as  much  as  he  was  tliat 
of  his  late  mistress  ;  it  is  therefore  his  interest  to 
advise  the  fulfilment  of  the  will,  he  is  himself  so 
large  a  legatee.  But  Twisleden  is  an  honest  and 
good  man,  and  an  excellent  man  of  business  He 
ia  as  much  captivated  by  his  new  mistress  as  any 
yf  the  rest,  and,     which    no     little    suvpiises,   and 


72  TWO    RIVAL   LOVERS 

I  must  say  displeases  me,  Miss  Franklin,  in  the 
absence  of  her  other  worshippers,  allows  herself  to 
seem  flattered  and  gratified  by  the  attentions  of  poor 
old  Twisleden. 

"  I  myself  receive  a  legacy  of  six  thousand  pounds, 
■which  together  with  my  own  two  thousand  will 
amply  provide  for  me,  evoi  if  I  have  to  leave.  As 
yet  I  suppose  I  ouglit  not  to  expect  such  a  thing,  for 
it  has  been  intimated  to  me  that  the  house  is  laige 
enough  for  us  all,  and  that  it  is  Miss  Franklin's 
pleasure  that  I  should  consider  it  as  my  fixed  home. 

"  I  thought  before  she  came  that  Mrs.  Franklin 
and  I  should  spend  much  time  together ;  but  foriy 
years  makes  a  surprising  difference  in  character. 
Mrs.  Franklin,  as  is  quite  natural,  prefers  her  daugh- 
ter's company  to  mine ;  and  it  is  much  better — in 
fact,  it  is  only  right  that  Miss  Franklin  should 
always  have  the  countenance  of  her  mother  in  her 
really  trying,  although  flattering  circumstances. 

"  You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  the  singular  con- 
duct of  Sir  Lynam :  he  is  laying  violent  siege  to  the 
heart  of  the  heiress.  Had  he  conducted  himself  in 
poor  Lady  Thicknisse's  lifetime  as  he  does  now,  he 
never  would  have  lost  Starkey.  He  is  a  wonder  even 
to  me,  who  know  him  so  well.  To  see  him  now,  one 
would  imagifie  he  had  always  been  the  most  regular 
liver — the  most  accomplished  of  fine  scholars.  Oil, 
it  is  absurd  to  me  to  see  him  turning  over  books  of 
elegant  literature,  and  giving  his  sentiments  on  such 
subjects,  and  on  painting  and  the  fine  arts,  as  if  all 
his  days  he  had  been  devoted  to  these  things  ;  and  it 
is  no  use  my  saying  anytlning,  for  both  she  and  her 
mother   seem  willing  to  be  duped.       His  design   I 


AND    ONE    ACilING   HEART.  7'3 

clearly  enough  understand,  he  is  determined  to  get 
back  Starkey.  Whether  he  will  succeed  or  not,  God 
knows !  Did  I  not,  however,  know  his  real  character 
too  wfll  to  believe  this  reformation  anything  but 
artifice,  a  means  to  gain  an  end,  I  sliould  think 
well,  even  of  a  spendthrift  and  prodigal  who  had  self- 
command  and  power  of  resolve  enough  to  reform 
himself  thus,  but — However,  Miss  Franklin  will  not 
throw  herself  away  unadvised :  there  are  too  many 
striving  for  the  prize  to  let  any  one  carry  it  off 
easily,  and  Sir  Lynam  is  not  a  popular  man  in  these 
parts. 

"  Nov.  20. — So  far  I  had  written,  my  dear  god- 
daughter, last  week.  I  now  take  up  my  pen  again, 
to  pursue  niy  little  narrative,  and,  if  possible,  to 
finish  my  letter. 

"  Last  week  a  lover  from  London  made  his  ap- 
pearance. Ml*.  Henry  Maitland — he  is  acquainted-v 
v,'ith  you,  and  I  had  great  pleasure  in  talking  of  you 
with  him.  This  young  man  was,  of  course,  quite  a 
stranger  to  me,  but  I  was  greatly  prepossessed  in  him 
from  the  first  moment ;  and  after-observation  has  in- 
terested me  still  more.  What  a  difference  between 
him  and  Sir  Lynam  !  Tlie  two  both  lodged  at  the 
inn  in  the  village,  and  I  must  confess  that,  while  Mr. 
Maitland  stayed,  I  was  not  without  anxiety  as  to 
what  might  take  place  between  the  two ;  but  Sir 
Lynam  is  a  late  riser,  and  I  believe,  that  excepting 
hero,  they  never  met. 

"  I  am  an  old  woman,  Elizabetli,  and  I  never 
thought  I  should,  at  my  time  of  life,  have  been  as 
much  interested  in  any  young  gentleman  as  I  have 
been  in  him. 


74  TWO    RIVAL    LOVERS, 

"  Mrs.  Franklin  herself,  in  a  fit  of  unusual  con- 
fidence, told  me  the  whole  affair.  They  are  ashamed 
of  the  son  of  a  London  tradesman  now,  so  they  want 
to  get  rid  of  him  :  the  daughter  takes  the  same  view 
of  the  affair  as  the  mother.  These  most  warmly- 
attached  lovers,  Elizabeth,  are  most  inconvenient 
things :  they  cannot  be  shaken  off  like  a  winter  gar- 
ment ;  and  now,  after  I  have  been  consulted  and 
counselled  with,  and  they  have  endeavoured  in  vain 
to  make  a  partisan  of  me,  it  has  occasioned  a  coldness 
between  us,  which,  though  I  regret,  I  cannot 
prevent,  for  if  people  will  solicit  my  opinion,  they 
v:iust  take  it  as  they  find  it.  I  can  very  well  under- 
stand their  mode  of  reasoning :  this  Mr.  Maitland, 
although  gentlemanly  looking,  and  most  gentlemanly 
too  in  his  manners,  and,  by  their  own  showing, 
disconnected  with  trade  in  consequence  of  this 
engagement  with  Miss  Franklin,  still  is  only  the 
son  of  a  tradesman,  and  they  are  looking  much 
higher  than  that  now.  He  is,  therefore,  a  most 
undesirable  and  inconvenient  person,  and  must  be 
got  rid  of  one  way  or  another.  I  know  nothing, 
however,  of  what  their  views  are  further  ;  whether 
they  are  satisfied  with  Sir  Lynam,  or  whether  they 
may  be  aspiring  higher.  I  will  tell  you,  however, 
the  style  of  Mrs.  Franklin's  reasoning,  with  regard  to 
Mr.  Maitland.  '  It  never  will  do,'  says  she,  '  to 
have  this  thing  talked  of — we  must  have  an  end  put 
to  it  as  quietly  as  possible — for  otherwise  it  may  bo 
of  serious  disadvantage  to  Alice.  I  grant  you  that 
he  is  most  blindly  and  passionately  in  love  ;  but  then, 
he  ought  himself  to  see  exactly  what  is  the  state  of 
the  case ;  and  it  is  not  generous,  I  must  say,  to  hold 


AtiD    ONK     ACHING     UKART.  75 

her  to  her  promise,  for  the  engagement,  do  you  see, 
was  entered  into  under  such  different  circumstances. 
Alice  is  not  the  person  she  was  then  ;  you  must  see 
it  as  1  do,  Mrs.  Betty  !  Mr.  Maitland  ought  to  act 
generously  about  it,  and  not  to  leave  all  the  disagree- 
able part  to  Alice.  It  is  a  most  awkward  affair,'  says 
she,  '  and  then  that  old  Maitland  is  such  a  violent 
sort  of  person,  he  will  be  for  prosecuting  for  breach 
of  promise  of  marriage,  or  some  such  thing,  and  we 
shall  have  Mr.  Henry  and  Sir  Lynam  fighting  a 
duel ;  and  these  things,  you  know,  would  get  into 
the  newspapers,  and  that  is  such  a  thing  !  especially 
where  a  young  giil  is  concerned.  I  must  get  Mrs. 
Twisleden  to  talk  to  him ;  he  is  a  sensible  person, 
and  Mr.  Maitland  ought  to  be  reasonable.'  So 
talked  Mrs.  Franklin,  as  people  talk  who  are  too 
weak  to  do  a  wrong  thing  boldly. 

"  Sir  Lynam  was  with  Miss  Franklin  and  her 
mother,  when  poor  Mr.  Maitland  came  first ;  he  was 
with  them  the  next  day  when  he  came  again ;  the 
one  staid  against  the  other;  hour  after  hour  went 
on,  callers  came  and  went,  and  yet  the  two  rivals 
staid. 

" '  Miss  Franklin,'  at  length  said  poor  Maitland,  in 
a  tone  of  determination,  '  I  shall  return  to  London 
to-morrow,  but  before  I  go,  I  must  have  half-an- 
liour's  conversation  with  you  alone.' 

"  Sir  Lynam  looked  eager,  and  seemed  as  if  he 
would  himself  refuse  this  for  her. 

"  '  The  evening  is  fine,'  returned  she,  with  an 
appearance  of  great  equanimity,  '  there  is  a  full 
half-hour  before  I  dress — will  you  walk  with  me,  on 
the  terrace  ? ' 


76  TWO    RIVAL    LOVERS, 

"  The  terrace,  as  you  may  remember,  runs  along 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  as  this  took  place  in  the 
library,  was  exactly  in  face  of  the  room.  Sir  Lynam 
took  his  seat  in  one  of  the  windows,  which  appeared 
to  me  a  very  impertinent,  not  to  say  offensire 
thing ; — whilst  I,  who,  I  am  free  to  confess,  was  no 
little  interested,  retired  to  my  own  room,  where, 
unseen,  I  might  still  get  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
the  two. 

"  They  walked  backward  and  forward,  for  some 
time ;  they  were  in  deep  discourse  and  spoke  low, 
although,  it  was  evident,  that  it  was  not  without 
great  warmth  and  excitement,  on  the  part  of  Mait- 
land.  In  turning,  I  once  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
face ;  it  was  flushed,  and  she  looked  both  angry  and 
distressed.  •>  Whether  she  did  not  choose  to  be  so 
narrowly  observed  by  Sir  Lynam,  or  whether  she 
was  now  first  aware  that  he  was  observing  them,  and 
she  thus  chose  to  reprove  him,  I  know  not ;  but  after 
having  paced  the  terrace  for  some  time,  she  turned 
into  a  side  walk,  which  led  into  the  shrubbery,  and 
thus  was  lost  to  the  view  of  the  whole  house. 

"  The  bell  rang  for  dressing  ;  the  bell  rang  for 
dinner ;  half-an-hour  passed,  and  then  an  hour ;  and 
but  for  the  moon,  which  had  risen  in  the  meantime, 
it  must  have  been  quite  dark,  and  Alice  was  not  yet 
returned.  Mrs.  Franklin  came  up  into  my  room, 
quite  alarmed.  '  He  is  such  a  violent  young  man,' 
said  she,  '  I  am  terrified  beyond  words  ;  there  is  no 
knowing  what  a  desperate  man  may  do !  suppose,  in 
his  madness,  he  should  murder  her  !' 

"  '  She  has  done  very  wrong,*  said  I,  for  I  had 
been  thinking  over  the  affair,  and  I  was  brought  up 


AND    ONE    ACHING    HEART.  77 

to  that  pitch  in  which  one  speaks  out  the  truth 
unsparingly ;  '  very  wrong,  indeed,  has  she  done,  if 
she  has  cast  off  an  old  tried  friend  for  a  hypocrite, 
like  Sir  Lynam.  She  will  repent  of  it,  one  day  or 
another,  as  sure  as  she  is  alive !'  said  I,  warmly. 

"  Mrs.  Franklin  made  me  no  reply,  but  went  out  of 
my  room  with  the  air  of  one  very  much  insulted. 

"  The  next  moment,  as  I,  myself,  left  my  room,  I 
met  Alice,  coming  up  the  great  staircase, —  she 
walked  slowly, — her  thick  veil  was  dovm.  over  her 
face,  and  she  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  me  in 
passing.  She  excused  herself,  on  the  plea  of  indis- 
position, from  appearing  at  dinner,  and  Sir  liynam 
took  his  leave. 

"  Everything  that  is  done  now-a-days  at  the  hall  is 
soon  a  subject  of  village  notoriety,  and  the  interesting 
fact  of  a  handsome  lover  following  the  heiress  from 
London,  and  finding  a  rival  in  the  person  of  Sir  Lynam 
Thicknisse,  who  is  too  well  known  here  to  be  beloved, 
created,  as  you  may  imagine,  quite  an  excitement. 

"  The  next  day,  Mrs.  Joplin,  the  respectable  land- 
lady of  the  Thicknisse  Arms,  came  up  with  a  letter 
which  poor  Maitland  had  inti-usted  to  her  care  for 
Miss  Franklin;  and  Perigord,  who  you  may  remember 
is  sister  to  Mrs.  Joplin,  and  who,  like  everybody  else, 
is  very  angry  at  the  encouragement  given  here  to  Sir 
Lynam,  brought  her  up  into  my  room.  The  good 
landlady's  heart  was  brimful  of  sympathy  for  her 
unhappy  guest.  My  best  way  therefore  will  be,  to 
give  you  a  detailed  account  of  what  happened  after 
Mr.  Maitland  left  the  hall,  as  much  as  may  be  ia 
her  own  words. 

"'He  did  not  return,'  said  she,  ^last  night  till 
h2 


78  TWO    RIVAL   LOVERS, 

after  eleven;  he  looked  wretched  and  ill,  and  seemec^ 
like  one  perplexed  and  bewildered  in  a  miserable 
dream ;  it  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  him,  and  I 
determined  to  wait  on  him  myself.  He  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair,  and  asked  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper; 
but  when  he  attempted  to  write  he  could  not  mak« 
a  letter,  his  hand  trembled  so.' 

"  '  I  wish  to  be  alone,,  my  good  landlady,*  said  he  in 
a  tone  so  mild,  yet  dejected,  that  Mrs.  Joplin  declares 
she  could  not  help  crying.  '•  Pardon  me.  Sir,'  said 
she,  determined  not  to  seem  as  if  she  noticed  his  agi- 
tation, '  but  I  have  got  a  nice  little  supper  for  you, 
a  brace  of  partridges  done  to  a  turn,  and  an  apple-tart 
with  a  touch  of  the  quince  in  it.  I  have  made  them 
ready  myself,  and  I  've  some  capital  old  port.' 

"'What  time  is  itl'  asked  he,  taking  out  his 
watch,  '  I  forgot  to  wind  up  my  watch  last  night,' 
said  he.  '  Half-past  eleven,  Sir,'  said  she,  think- 
ing to  herself,  '  poor  dear  gentleman,  and  no  wonder 
he  forgot  to  wind  up  his  watch.' 

'■* '  I  did  not  think  it  was  so  late,'  said  he,  pushing 
aside  the  pen  and  paper,  '  you  may  bring  me  in  the 
supper.' 

"  Mrs.  Joplin  declares  she  never  took  such  pains  to 
set  any  meal  cut  so  temptingly  as  she  did  this,  for 
it  would  have  done  her  good  to  see  him  eat. 

"'  What  time  does  the  London  coach  go  through 
to-morrow  ?  '  asked  he.  '  At  ten  o'clock,'  she  told 
him,  and  then  informed  him  that  supper  Avas  served. 

"  '  I  have  all  that  is  needful,'  said  he,  glancing  afc 
the  table.  '  1  thank  you,  my  good  landlady  ; — my 
bed-room,  which  is  adjoining  this,  is  ready  I  see  ;•— 
I  shall  need  nothing  more.' 


AND    ONE    ACHING    HEART.  79 

"'  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  wait  on  you,  Sir,'  said 
she  ;  '  do  allow  me  to  stay,  the  smell  of  llie  supper 
won't  be  pleasant  in  the  room  after  you're  done.' 

" '  1  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  my  good  landlady,* 
said  he,  *  but  I  wish  to  be  alone — you  will  do  me  a 
favour  by  leaving  me  alone  i  ' 

"  '  J  wished  him  good  night,  and  went  out  without 
another  word,'  said  Mrs.  Joplin,  'fur  thinks  I  to 
myself,  I  know  now  I  'm  a  great  bore  to  him  ;  any 
body  but  him  would  have  cursed  and  sworn  in  my 
face,  and  he  's  as  mild  as  an  angel.  Well,  no  sooner 
was  I  out  than  I  heard  him  quietly  bolt  the  door 
after  me,  but  not  with  a  great  riot  as  if  to  let  me  know 
how  glad  he  was  1  was  gone,  but  as  quietly  as  pos- 
sible that  I  might  not  hear  it.  Now  1  call  that,* 
said  Mrs.  Joplin,  '  showing  a  very  good  heart!*  1 
quite  agreed  in  her  opinion,  and  so  will  you. 

"  '  I  went  to  bed,'  continued  she,  '  but  bless  me,  I 
could  not  close  an  eye ;  my  bed-room  was  next  to 
that  in  which  he  sate,  and  the  w^all  was  but  a  thin 
one ;  and  there  was  he,  poor  gentleman,  walking  up 
and  down  all  the  livelong  night,  and  all  the  ■vhile 
sighing  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  I  know  how 
it  is,  said  I  to  myself,  yon  young  lady  up  at  the 
hall  has  turned  off  this  young  gentleman  for  that 
creature  Sir  Lynam !  And  would  you  believe  it, 
Mrs.  Betty/  said  she,  'Sir  Lynam  himself  slept  in  the 
best  bed-room  on  the  other  side  of  me,  and  though 
that  wall  was  of  a  regular  thickness,  I  could  hear  him 
snoring  away  like  a  pig  !  I  only  wished  Miss  Franklin 
could  have  been  where  I  was.  I  could  not  help  crying, 
said  she,  '  as  I  lay  in  bed  ;  but  as  towards  morning  all 
seemed  quiet  in  his  room  I  dropped  asleep. 


80  TWO    RIVAL   LOVERS, 

"'About  nine  o'clock/  continued  she,  'his  bel] 
rang — I  answered  it  myself,  and,  Lord  love  you,  Mrs, 
Betty,  he  had  not  taken  bit  nor  sup;  the  supper  stood 
just  as  1  had  left  it.  Oh  Lord ! '  exclaimed  I, 
seeing  this,  '  I  fear  your  honour  did  not  relish  your 
supper.'  '  It  was  excellent,'  said  he,  '  most  excel- 
lent, but  I  was  not  well  last  night,  I  had  no  ajipetite 
for  supper.'  '  He  never  had  his  clothes  off  that 
night,'  said  Mrs.  Joplin,  'nor  had  he  touched  the 
bed ;  and  never,'  said  she,  '  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred 
years  old,  shall  I  forget  his  countenance.' 

"  '  The  coach  goes  at  ten,  you  say,'  said  he;  'let 
me  have  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  dry  toast.'  '  I  cleared 
away  the  supper  things,'  said  she,  '  and  set  him  out  as 
pretty  a  little  breakfast  as  I  knew  how  ;  ham,  and 
anchovy-essence,  and  everything  I  thought  that  give 
a  relish.  Mighty  little,  however,  did  he  take  ;  two 
cups  of  coffee,  a  few  inches  of  dry  toast,  an  egg^  and 
that  was  all.' 

"  'And  now  my  good  landlady,'  said  he,  when  I  had 
cleared  all  away,  '  may  I  request  one  favour  from 
you  ? '  He  was  as  pale  as  death  while  he  spoke,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  .that  it  was  all  that  ever  he  could  do 
to  keep  calm.  '  Lord  !  Sir,'  said  I,  '  any  manner  of 
thing ;'  and  I  was  every  bit  as  near  crying  even  as 
he.  '  Will  you  then  take  charge  of  a  letter— of  this 
letter  ? '  said  he,  taking  it  from  his  side-pocket ;  '  it 
must  go  to  the  hall  immediately ;  I  wish  it  to  be  de- 
livered into  Miss  Franklin's  hand.'  '  I  never,'  said 
Mrs.  Joplin,  deeply' affected  as  she  spoke,  'shall 
forget  how  he  spoke  that  name  ;  he  made  a  little 
pause  before  he  could  bring  it  out,  and  when  he  had 
said  it — Lord !  what  an  expression  came  ovir  his  face. 


.AXJ>    ONE    ACHING    HEART,  81 

If  he  had  been  a  woman  he  must  have  fainted  ;  but 
as  it  was,  he  seemed  to  master  himself.'  'And  you'll 
do  me  a  very  great  favour  if  you'll  undertake  this,' 
said  he.  'I'll  take  it  myself,'  said  I,  and  went 
out  that  I  might  not  in  any  way  intrude  upon  him. 

"  '  He  paid  like  a  prince,'  said  Mrs.  Joplin,  '  and  1 
could  not  help  saying  to  him  as  he  was  going,  There 
is  not  a  gentleman  that  I  would  more  gladly  see  again 
than  you,  and  I  wisii,  if  ever  you  come  this  way  again, 
that  you  may  be  just  as  happy  as  you  deserve !  I 
don't  believe,  however,'  continued  she,  'that  he 
heard  or  understood  what  I  said,  for  he  looked  all  the 
time  like  somebody  lost;  and  I  could  not  help  saying 
to  "NVillis  the  guard,  who  goes  all  the  way  to  London, 
Just  have  an  eye,  Mr.  AV^illis,  to  yon  handsome 
young  gentleman,  and  if  you  can  show  him  any 
civility  do,  for  he  has  some  great  trouble  on  his  mind, 
and  he  pays  like  a  prince.  This  last  I  put  in  be- 
cause I  know  ^Vi]lis,  and  though  he  is  a  good-hearted 
kind  man,  I  know  he  thinks  best  of  a  passenger  that 
pays  well. 

"  '  Sir  Lynam  was  leaning  out  of  his  room  smoking 
a  cigar  as  the  coach  drove  off.  I  saw  plain  enough 
a  malicious  pleasure  in  his  eye  ;  but  the  poor  London 
gentleman  did  not  see  him,  and  so  I  did  not  mind.' 

"  So  far,  my  dear  Elizabeth,  Mrs.  Joplin,  and  you, 
must  pardon  all  this  detail;  it  interested  me,  and  I 
know  it  will  interest  you  likewise,  who  know  this 
unfortunate  young  gentleman  better  than  I  do. 

"  Not).  2L  This  morning  Miss  Franklin  and  her 
mother  drove  out  in  the  coach;  she  was  veiled  as  she 
went  from  the  house  to  the  carriage,  nor  has  she  seen 
Sir  Lynam  to-day.     To-morrow  she  and  her  mothel 


82  A    BEAUTIFUL   SPIRIT, 

dine  with  a  small  party  at  General  Byerly's,  witb 
whose  family  a  considerable  intimacy  exists. 

"iVby.  22.  Sir  Lynam's  groom  is  again  at  the  gate 
with  his  master's  horse ;  he  has  it  appears  been 
admitted  to  see  her. 

"  I  write  no  more  at  this  moment,  for  the  sufficient 
reason  that  my  paper  is  quite  full. 

"Yours,  as  ever, 

"Betty  Thicknisse." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    BEAUTIFUL   SPIRIT,    AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND. 

It  was  the  end  of  November,  cold  dispiriting 
November.  The  rich  and  well-clothed,  and  amply 
provided  for,  sitting  in  warm  rooms,  without  a  worldly 
care  to  disturb  them,  could  not  resist  its  influence ;  it 
weighed  down  the  heart  of  the  anxious,  and  sent  a 
feeling  akin  to  despair  into  the  bosom  that  wanted 
hope,  and  while  it  chilled  to  the  bone  made  many  a 
poor  householder  sigh  over  the  price  of  fuel. 

Philip  Durant,  who  had  gone  on  the  Western  Cir- 
cuit with  the  Judges,  had  not  yet  returned,  although 
shortly  expected,  and  his  young  wife  sate  in  their 
small  room  with  her  child.  Her  child  was  sleeping, 
and  her  thoughts  were  with  her  husband. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door ;  the  postman  brought 
her  a  letter.  Ah  !  a  letter  from  her  husband  !  Her 
eyes  beamed,  her  cheek  flushed,  and,  by  the  trem- 
bling anxiety  with  which  she  broke  the  seal,  had  any 


AND    TKA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  83 

one  been  present  they  might  have  seen  how  dear  the 
writer  was  to  her.  "  Dear  Philip,"  sighed  she  as  she 
closed  the  letter,  and  with  a  tearful  eye,  whilst  with 
all  the  humility  of  true  love  a  prayer  filled  her  heart, 
that  God  would  make  her  worthy  of  his  love. 
^  The  letter,  however,  was  not  a  cheerful  one, — the 
circuit  had  been  very  unproductive  to  the  young  bar- 
rister, and  his  father's  strange  and  foolish  marriage, 
which  the  papers  had  bruited  far  and  wide,  occasioned 
him  many  a  mortification. 

"  I  am  glad,"  thought  she,  "  that  I  parted  with  our 
expensive  servant.  I  will  manage  with  this  little 
girl  whilst  he  is  away,  and  when  he  returns  perhaps 
also  we  may ;  but  at  all  events,  I  will  be  more  pru- 
dent and  careful  than  ever.  Thank  God  for  my 
husband  !  I  will  get  his  chambers  nicely  furnished 
for  him— as  nicely  at  least  as  my  little  means  will 
allow;  thank  Heaven,  I  am  not  mucli  known  in 
London  ;  my  economy  will  neither  humiliate  me,  nor 
be  injurious  to  him." 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  heart,  she  seated  her- 
self at  her  writing-desk,  took  out  a  quantity  of  most 
neatly  copied  manuscript,  which  after  turning  over 
and  looking  through,  and  making  here  and  there  a 
word  more  legible,  and  then  reading  page  after  page, 
in  another  part,  with  deep  interest,  she  in  the  end  laid 
carefully  together,  and  then  tied  up  in  a  neat  packet. 
"  Please  God  !"  ejaculated  she  to  herself,  "  that 
this  may  be  successful.  What  a  blessing  it  will  be 
to  us!" 

She  then  took  out  a  silk  purse,  from  which  she 
counted  five  guineas,  which  in  fact  were  its  contents. 
No  miser  ever  looked  at  his  secret  hoard  with  moro 


84  A   BEAUTIFUL   SPIRIT, 

intense  pleasure  than  did  poor  Gertrude  at  these  five 
golden  guineas ;  there  was  a  light  in  her  eye,  and  a 
crimson  on  her  lovely  cheek,  which  made  her  really 
beautiful. 

"Thank  God!"  she  again  ejaculated,  and  vraa 
turning  over  in  her  mind  the  purpose  to  which  this 
money  was  destined,  when  the  child  woke,  and 
thoughts  of  her  husband,  which  had  till  now  filled 
her  heart,  gave  place  to  thoughts  of  her  ch.ld. 

An  hour  after  this  time,  we  may  see  Gertrude,  with 
her  little  maid-servant  and  child,  on  their  way  to 
Elizabeth  D u rant's ;  and  somewhat  later,  we  will 
look  in  and  see  the  two  sitting  together  in  Eliza- 
beth's chamber,  in  earnest  and  confidential  discourse. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gertrude,  ''  why  I  should 
have  any  objection  to  his  knowing  about  it ;  but  I 
would  not  for  the  world  that  he  should  know  if  I 
am  unsuccessful.  He  has  anxieties  enough  of  his 
own,  without  my  adding  to  them." 

Elizabeth  had  a  magazine  in  her  hand,  which  Ger- 
trude had  brought  her,  and  out  of  which  she  had 
been  reading. 

"  But  how  exquisitely  beautiful  it  is !"  said  she, 
closing  the  number  ;  "  so  full  of  a  fresh  and  joyous 
spirit,  yet  showing,  at  the  same  time,  such  knowledge 
of  human  nature.  If  you  write  like  this,  I  wonder 
you  did  not  long  ago  make  your  talent  known  to 
Philip." 

Gertrude  blushed.  "I  know  not  how  it  is  exactly," 
said  she,  "  but  I  am  always  so  jealous  of  his  esteem , 
I  fancy  he  himself  could  write  much  better  than  I 
do,  if  he  chose  to  try." 

"  Philip  is  a  most  accomplished  and  intellectual  man, 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  85 

3fear  Gertrude,"  said  Elizabeth,  smiling;  "but  without 
any  disrespect  to  him,  1  question  if  he  could  write 
poetry  like  this,  though  he  would  feel  it  as  deeply  as 
any  of  us." 

The  two  friends  talked  together  of  many  things, 
and  at  length  began  to  speak  of  Gertrude's  life  before 
she  became  acquainted  with  her  husband. 

"  Ah !"  said  Gertrude,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  and 
yet  smiling,  "  I  cannot  help  having  a  sort  of  com- 
passion on  myself  when  I  look  back  to  those  dark, 
friendless  years  before  I  knew  Philip.  You  know 
not,  Elizabeth,  how  joyless  my  life  was  then  ;  I  had 
no  one  to  sympathise  with  me ;  my  feelings,  my 
desires,  my  sufferings,  were  all  locked  in  my  own 
heart. 

"  As  a  child,  I  had  been  diffident  and  retiring  ;  and 
when  at  twelve  I  lost  my  mother, — and  oh  how  the 
knowledge  of  this  must  have  embittered  her  death, — 
I  was  thrown  among  strangers.  My  guardian  and  his 
wife  were  a  good  kind  of  people ;  but  he  was  a  man 
in  trade,  who  had  made  much  money  by  a  life  of 
plodding  and  economy ;  he  was  a  rigidly  upright 
man,  not  so  much  from  native  elevation  and  integ- 
rity of  character,  as  because  honesty  was,  as  he  said 
times  without  end,  the  best  policy.  All  kind  of 
philosophy  and  poetry  was  to  him  a  species  of  heresy; 
he  was  a  Realist  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word  ;  and 
knowing  as  he  did  so  well  how  unpromising  were  my 
prospects  in  life,  for  my  father,  alas!  had  always  been 
a  speculator,  and  the  little  property  he  left  was 
invested  iu  companies  and  speculations — shares 
here  and  shares  there — all  which  in  the  end  proved 
mere  bubbles,  burst,  and  left  me  nothing.  My  guar* 
t 


86  A   BEAVttFtL   SPIRIT, 

dian,  therefore,  was  most  anxious  to  prevent  my 
having  my  father's  failing,  and  scarcely  ever  did  he 
open  his  lips  to  me  without  its  being  for  the  utterance 
ot  some  prudential  maxim.  I  was  taught — but  alas! 
I  never  learned — to  repress  my  imagination,  and 
everything  approaching  to  sentiment  in  me  waa 
endeavoured  to  be  crushed;  and  thus  I,  who  was 
naturally  imaginative,  and  full  of  feeling,  learned 
betimes  the  dangerous  art  of  concealment,  and  lock- 
ing up  all  these  beloved  sins  in  my  own  breast, 
indulged  them  in  secret  only  the  more. 

"  My  guardian  died  in  my  fifteenth  year;  and  his 
wife,  wlio  had  all  her  husband's  prudence,  without 
his  generosity,  informed  me  that  the  legacy  of  three 
hundred  pounds  which  my  guardian  had  left  me,  and 
which  was  my  sole  property,  must  be  devoted  to 
preparing  and  enabling  me  to  gain  my  own  liveli- 
hood, in  a  school.  I  had  no  will  in  the  case  ;  my 
former  home  was  less  attractive  than  ever,  when  my 
guardian,  whom  I  now  came  to  see  had  been  my  best 
friend,  was  gone,  and  any  change  I  hoped  would  be 
for  the  better.  I  was  placed  as  half-boarder  for  three 
years  at  a  large  establishment,  where  I  was  to  per- 
fect myself  in  every  possible  accomplishment,  and  to 
learn  almost  every  modern  tongue,  after  which  I  wasto 
be  received  in  the  school  as  teacher,  at  a  stated  salary, 
or  to  have  another  situation  equally  good,  found  for 
me.  My  tliree  years  at  Brussels  were  anything  but 
sunshiny — still  I  made  progress  in  all  my  studies. 
Music  was  my  greatest  delight,  and  I  was  considered 
so  great  a  proficient,  that  as  a  sort  of  show-ofF  person 
I  was  no  little  esteemed  in  the  establishment.  Of 
French,  Italian,  and  German,  I  was  considered  perfect 


ASTt    TEA    WITH     A    FRIEND.  87 

mistress ;  and  my  oil-paintings  were  thought  good 
enough  to  be  framed  for  the  school  drawing-ro(;m.  1 
was  tlien  eighteen,  and  I  was  beginning  to  look 
forward  to  being  independent. 

"  But  oh,  Elizabeth  !"  said  she,  after  a  moment- 
ary pause,  in  which  the  recollection  of  that  time  had 
rushed  over  her  mind,  "  you  know  not  what  a  life 
is  hers  who  is  educating  to  be  a  teacher  in  a  school ! 
She  must  be  so  mechanical,  she  must  be  so  wise, 
she  must  be  so  prudent  and  exemplary :  there  is  so 
little  forbearance  shown  to  her,  so  little  allowance 
made  for  her  !  And  if  she  should  have  weak  health, 
as  I  had,  and  suffer  physically  from  cold  and  over- 
exertion, and  morally  from  want  of  sympathy ;  if 
she  should  lie  awake  half  the  night,  and  then  fall 
asleep  just  before  it  is  time  to  get  up,  God  have  mercy 
on  her  !  And  then  that  depression  of  spirit,  and  that 
deep  longing,  which  eats  into  the  very  soul,  for  all 
the  little  charities  of  life,  for  kind  words,  and  fellow- 
ship, and  love  !  Yes,  Elizabeth,  few  girls  of  eighteen 
were  as  highly  accomplished  as  I  Avas — but  may 
Heaven  forbid  that  many  young  hearts  of  eighteen 
shouli  have  had  likewise  the  same  experience  in 
hardship  and  sorrow. 

"  Many  a  time,"  continued  she,  "  have  I  envied 
the  commonest  maid-servant ;  who,  when  her  work 
was  done,  could  sit  down  of  an  evening  and  com- 
plain to  her  fellows  of  her  place,  and  grumble  about 
her  grievances,  and  give  warning,  and  take  another 
service  at  the  end  of  her  quarter.  It  was  not  so  with 
m3 :  I  had  no  exact  equal  in  the  school — I  was  a 
half-boarder— looked  down  upon  both  by  teachers 
and  scholars  ;    I   was  apprenticed  to  the  establish- 


88  A    BEAUTIFUL   SPIRIT, 

ment,  and  to  leave  it,  nay  even  to  complain,  was  to 
ruin  my  own  poor  prospects.  It  was  dark  enough, 
truly  ;  but  still  it  was  not  wholly  without  -light. 
I  had  pleasure  in  my  own  j^rogress,  a  turn  for 
languages  and  an  unquestionable  talent  for  music, 
and  some  little  likewise  for  painting.  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  however,  my  natural  reserve  and 
my  doubt  of  myself  grew  more  and  more.  I  never 
sate  down  to  the  instrument  before  any  one  without 
trembling.  I  opened  my  heart  to  no  one,  but  I 
indulged  more  and  more  in  those  day-dreams  and 
reveries  to  which  I  had  always  been  addicted.  At 
length,  however,  my  reveries  found  words,  and  I 
began  to  essay  little  poems — but  oh !  I  should  as 
soon  have  thought  of  crying  aloud  in  a  market-place, 
as  of  showing  my  little  effusions  to  any  one ;  all 
remained  locked  in  my  own  breast. 

"  About  the  time  my  term  was  completed  a  lady 
of  Brighton  having  written  in  quest  of  an  assistant 
in  her  school,  with  the  most  flattering  promises  of 
])artnership,  and  I  know  not  what  besides,  the  .situ- 
ation was  offered  to  me.  It  promised  well;  and  I, 
full  of  the  most  buoyant  hope,  and  with  I  know  not 
what  patriotism  burning  in  my  heart,  set  my  foot 
again  on  my  native  soil,  my  own  mistress,  as  I 
hoped,  and  with  a  prosperous  life  before  me.  Alas ! 
it  was  not  many  days  before  I  looked  back  to  the 
abundant  table  and  well-to-do  establishment  at 
Brussels,  as  to  a  sort  of  Paradise  from  which  I  was 
banished.  The  poor  lady  here  was  just  on  the  verge 
of  bankruptcy. — Good  heaven  !  what  a  fearful  time 
was  that  four  months! — a  miserably  cold  winter, 
and    every  means  of  life  and  warmth  inadequately 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  PtO 

supplied,   with   a   wretched    outside    show    of  pro« 
fusion. 

"  My  health  would  not  stand  it — the  physician 
whom  I  was  obliged  to  consult  ordered  my  immediate 
return  home,  a  generous  diet,  and  repose,  'ileturn 
home  !'  repeated  I  to  myself,  '  and  where  in  this  world 
have  I  a  home  ? '  for  the  widow  of  my  guardian  had 
m  the  course  of  tlie  last  three  years  married  a  second 
husband,  with  a  grown  family  of  sons  and  daughters. 
Necessity,  however,  has  no  law,  and  as  my  life  de- 
pended on  some  change,  1  wrote  to  her  ;  told  her  my 
exact  state,  and  solicited  not  only  her  advice,  but  if 
possible,  that  I  might  be  permitted  to  spend  a  few 
months  with  her,  for  after  all  my  experience  of  life 
my  heart  warmed  to  her  as  to  a  mother. 

"  She  was  by  no  means  a  bad-hearted  woman,  and, 
considerably  touched  by  my  letter,  she  obtained 
from  her  husband  and  his  family  an  invitation  for 
me  to  visit  them.  ]My  aunt's  step-sons  and  daughters 
were  handsome,  dashing,  expensive  young  people, 
who  lived  for  show  and  the  enjoyment  of  life,  and  as 
was  natural,  perhaps,  not  only  looked  down  on  me — 
as  on  the  poor  teacher  in  a  school,  but  made  me  feel 
too  that  they  did  so.  Theirs,  however,  was  a  house 
of  plenty  ;  and  eating  and  drinking  of  the  very  best 
were  grudged  to  none.  There,  too,  I  had  repose, 
and  that  was  better  for  me  even  than  more  generous 
food:  it  was  fine  summer  weather  too;  there  were 
extensive  gardens  and  grounds,  and  to  me,  solitary  as 
I  siill  was,  it  was  like  a  heavenly  life.  After  I  had 
been  two  months  in  the  family,  and  was  beginning  to 
have  uncomfortable  feelings^if  I  saw  any ])ody  glancing 
on  that  part  of  the  Times  newspaper  which  contained 
i2 


90  A    BEAUTIFUL    SPIIllT, 

advertisements  for  governesses,  Philip  came  on  a 
visit  to  the  sons  of  the  family;  they  and  he  had  been 
college  friends,  although  very  different  charactei-s  all 
of.them;  one  of  those  friendships  it  was  which  exists 
in  youth,  but  must  of  necessity  die  in  manhood. 
He  came,"  said  Gertrude,  her  cheek  flashing  while 
she  spoke,  '"came  for  a  visit  of  two  weeks.  How 
strange — how  incredible  was  it  to  me,  that  he,  clever, 
manly,  the  son  of  the  great  lawyer,  Sii  Thomas 
Durant — himself,  as  I  was  told,  a  young  lawyer  of 
great  promise, — the  scholar,  the  gentleman, — oh, 
how  strange  was  it  when  the  consciousness  first  came 
to  me  that  he  loved  me,  and  not  only  that  he  loved 
me,  but  that  he  offered  me  his  hand  !  Elizabeth, 
I  never  shall  forget  that  time  ; — I  loved  hum  all  the 
while  so  intensely,  as  I  believed  so  hopelessly ;  ho 
was  my  first,  my  only  love ;  I  looked  up  to  him  as 
to  one  so  infinitely  above  me,  it  would  have  seemed 
presumption^  in  me  to  have  raised  my  thoughts  to 
him,  other  than  as  a  sort  of  divinity. 

"  He  and  the  family  he  was  visiting  had  very  little 
in  common ;  he  very  rarely  went  out  with  the  sons 
on  their  shooting  excursions,  and  seldom  played  bil- 
liards with  them.  The  daughters  dressed  splendidly, 
and  received  and  paid  visits.  I  was  a  quiet  little  in- 
significant person,  for  whom  nobody  cared,  and  of 
whom  nobody  thought.  Philip  stopped  at  home  and 
read  to  me  while  I  mended  my  clothes.  1  supposed 
he  might  fall  in  love  with  one  of  my  aunt's  step-, 
daughters  ;  they  sang  and  played  to  him  of  an  even- 
ing: I  remember,  one  evening,  his  saying  to  me,  '  Do 
you  not  play,  Gertrude?'  I  was  so  thrilled  by  his 
calling  me  Gertrude  :  ])ut  I  thought  instantly,  1  an* 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  91 

onl}'  like  a  child  or  servant  to  him — and  I  was  hu- 
miliated. I  replied,  '  Yes.'  '  Why  then  do  you  not  ? 
I  wish  you  would,'  said  he.  Nobody  seconded  his 
wish,  but  he  was  resolute,  and  led  me  to  tiie  instru- 
ment himself.  I  was  always  timid  in  playing  before 
any  one  ;  then  I  knew,  too,  that  this  grand  two- 
hundred  guinea  instrument  was  the  idol  of  the  house: 
they  were  jealous  of  the  keys  being  touched  ;  every- 
body was  silent  in  the  room,  and  I  must  play,  not  only 
before  them,  but  before  Philip.  I  played  Beethoven's 
Adelaide :  it  was  a  favourite  piece  of  mine ;  and 
though  I  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  played  it 
well,  1  never  before  succeeded  so  little  to  my  own 
satisfaction.  '  And  do  you  sing  V  asked  Philip,  coming 
forward  towards  me  as  I  ran  from  the  instrument. 
'  Yes,  a  little,'  said  I,  almost  ready  to  cry,  for  I  was 
nervous  and  terrified;  'but  to-night  I  cannot.'  I  never 
shall  forget  the  expression  of  Philip's  eye — it  seemed 
to  me  filled  with  unspeakable  affection  ;  but  1  dared 
not  at  the  moment  believe  so,  and,  unable  any  longer  to 
6tay  in  the  room,  I  went  to  my  own  chamber  and  wept. 
"  He  and  I  were  often  left  alone  together,  for  the 
family  thought  so  little  of  me,  that  they  never  could 
imagine  me  a  rival.  He  sate  with  me  all  one  morning, 
and  read  Campbell's  Pleasures  of  Hope.  The  poem 
was  well  known  to  me,  but  till  that  morning  it 
seemed  as  if  I  had  never  thoroughly  understood  it, 
or  appreciated  its  beauties;  and  again  1  wept,  I 
hardly  knew  why — nor  did  I  dare  to  look  up,  lest  lie 
should  see  my  tears.  He  laid  down  the  book,  and 
asked  me  to  walk  with  him  ;  it  seemed  to  me  such  a 
condescension  in  him,  and  I  dressed  myself  as  nicely 
as  I  could,  because  I  felt  so  pleased.     How  infinitely 


1^  A    BEAUTIFUL   SPIRIT, 

Iiappy  I  was,  as  he  asked  nie  to  take  his  arm  when 
we  left  the  house,  and  then  I  rememher  I  thought 
how  dreadful  it  would  be  when  he  was  gone  ;  and 
then  how  I  should  live  for  years  and  years  on  the 
remembrance  of  him.  '  I  shall  never  many,'  thought 
I  to  myself,  '  for,  after  knowing  Philip,  how  can  I 
love  anybody  else  ?' 

"  On  that  morning,  Elizabeth,  he  asked  me  to  be 
his  wife  !  I  could  hardly  believe  my  senses ;  I 
thought  it  must  be  a  dream  ; — yet  no  !  there  he  was 
before  me,  so  kind,  so  earnest,  so  sincere  ;  I  could  not 
doubt  it,  but  someway  or  other  I  felt  as  if  it  were 
too  good  to  last !  I  thought — oh,  1  know  not  what  I 
thought ! 

"  VV^lien  the  family  knew  that  I,  the  poor,  despised 
Cinderella  of  the  household,  had  won  the  heart  of 
the  great  lawyer's  son,  my  position  there  became  a 
very  unpleasant  one.  I  had  evidently  interfered 
with  family  arrangements,  which,  under  any  circum- 
stances, could  not  fail  of  displeasing,  but  in  this  in- 
stance made  mine  almost  an  unpardonable  sin. 

"  Philip  told  me  exactly  what  was  his  position  at 
home  and  with  his  father,  and  I  did  not  expect  to 
marry  for  years  I  advertised  for  a  situation  in  a 
school,  and  took  the  first  which  offered.  I  was  now 
so  unspeakably  happy  in  myself,  that  everything 
wore  a  new  and  different  aspect.  I  found  my  new 
situation  by  no  means  an  unpleasant  one  ;  a  light  heart 
makes  all  duties  and  labours  light,  even  the  most 
unvarying  and  harassing.  For  years  I  could  have 
been  happy  in  this  situation,  had  not  my  health  again 
given  way.  What  was  I  to  do?  1  concealed  my 
illness  till    I   could  conceal  it  no  longer,  ind  Mrs 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  VO 

Lewis,  the  lady  of  the  establishment,  insisted  then 
on  my  writing  to  my  aunt.  Her  reply  only  increased 
my  difficulty  :  it  was  kind,  but  she  could,  she  said, 
give  me  no  invitation  toiler  house  ;  she  hinted  of  her 
own  private  tioubles,  inclosed  me  five  pounds,  and 
bade  me  not  look  to  her  again  for  assistance.  I  rallied 
as  much  as  I  could,  and  thought  wlien  spring  came  I 
should  be  better.  I  determined  if  possible  to  keep 
all  from  Philip's  knowledge  ;  but,  suspecting  some- 
thing was  amiss,  from  my  letters,  he  himself  came 
down.  ^\lien  he  saw  me  and  heard  the  physician's 
opinion,  he  would  hear  of  nothing  but  our  marriage; 
he  himself,  he  said,  would  take  care  of  me  and  pro- 
vide for  me.  He  was  so  hopeful,  so  determined,  so 
kind,  that  I  could  not  refuse.  But  oh  !  Elizabeth, 
how  ashamed  was  I  to  think  of  ray  poverty ;  phy- 
sicians' fees  had  consumed  more  than  my  half-year's 
salary,  and  I  had  very  little  money  to  buy  wedding- 
clothes  with — a  woman  feels  these  things.  I  was 
married  in  a  white  muslin  dress,  which  cost  but  eight 
shillings,  and  which  I  made  myself;  1  had  my  straw 
bonnet,  which  was  in  its  second  year,  cleaned  for  the 
occasion,  and  I  trimmed  it  with  book-muslin,  because 
that  was  less  costly  than  ribbon.  I  could  not  help 
crying  as  I  did  this,  for  I  seemed  such  a  poor  bride  ; 
and,  could  I  have  dressed  myself  in  the  most  costly 
bridal  apparel,  I  should  not  have  thought  it  too  much 
for  the  occasion. 

"Never,  however,  was  a  bride  so  happy  and  so 
proud  as  I  was.  Philip  seemed  so  too.  We  made  no 
bridal  excursion,  for  the  simple  reason  that  we  could 
not  afford  it ;  and  we  came  at  once  to  our  quiet,  nn- 
expensive  lodgings,  where  we  mutually  agreed  to  live 


94  A    BEAUTIFUL    SPIRIT, 

as  economically  as  possible,  in  the  belief  that  more 
prosperous  days  would  come,  and  in  the  meantime 
Philip  hoped  to  be  reconciled  with  his  father. 

"  Happy,  however,  as  we  were,  prosperous  days 
came  not,  and  Sir  Thomas  was  as  implacable  as 
ever,  and  I,  loving  my  husband  as  I  did,  could 
not  help  being  distressed  by  the  anxious  expression 
of  his  countenance,  v,hich  I  knew  he  endeavoured  to 
conceal  from  me. 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  my  little  attempts  at  author- 
ship, for  I  thought  humbly  of  them  myself;  and  I 
knew  his  taste  in  literature  to  be  so  good  that  I 
feared  lowering  myself  in  his  estimation  by  my  poor 
attempts,  particularly  as  I  had  heard  him  more  than 
once  express  disapprobation  of  women  thrusting 
themselves  into  notoriety  ;  he  thought  it  unfeminine. 
When,  however,  I  was  obliged  to  make  so  many  de- 
mands on  his  purse,  in  expectation  of  our  little  one's 
birth,  I  took  a  desperate  resolution  one  day,  and  copy- 
ing out  a  few  poems  took  them  to  the  editor  of  this 
magazine.  I  took  them  to  him  because  I  had  heard 
Mrs.  Lewis  speak  of  him  ;  he  was  her  brother,  and 
she  always  spoke  of  him  with  pride,  as  a  kind- 
hearted  and  honourable  man.  He  desired  me  to 
leave  them  with  him  and  to  call  again.  I  did  so; 
and  to  my  great  surprise  he  offered  me  two  guineas 
for  them.  How  thankful  I  was  !  more  especially  as 
he  expressed  a  desire  to  see  something  more  from  my 
pen.  I  paid  him  a  second  visit,  and  on  that  occasion 
received  from  him  five  guineas.  He  was  extremely 
kind.  He  is  an  elderly  gentleman,  and  that  set  me 
more  at  my  ease  with  him  ;  he  appeared,  too,  to  take 
the  most  livelv  interest  in  me.      Althous-li  I  never 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    t'RlfeND.  Ofl 

aVoWed  my  name,  he  asked  me  of  my  acquirements — 
if  I  had  ever  attempted  translation,  or  had  ever  tried 
my  hand  at  prose.  Prose,  he  said,  sold  much  better 
than  poetry,  and  that  he  would  like  to  see  whatever 
I  did  in  this  way  j  and  much  more  that  was  most 
encouraging.  Of  all  this  I  have  said  nothing  to 
I'liilii),  for  I  was  afraid  that  he  might  think  much 
'ess   favourably  of  my   productions  than  even  Mn 

* ,   and   I  could  not  bear  that  he  should  despise 

me.  I  thought  still  that  I  would  wait  and  see  if 
my  prose  were  successful ;  and  then,  if  it  were  so^ 
he  should  know  all." 

"And  your  prose,"  said  Elizabeth,  "have  you 
yet  offered  that  to  Mr. ?" 

''  It  is  here,"  said  Gertrude,  taking  up  the  packet 
of  manuscript.  "  It  will  make  two  volumes.  It  is  a 
simple  tale,  drawn  from  my  own  experience,  and 
carried  on  into  the  future — into  such  a  future  as  I 
would  covet  for  myself  and  Philip.  It  is  a  tale  of 
virtue,  not  of  vice,  in  which  I  have  endeavoured  to 
make  goodness  and  virtue  interesting  for  their  own 
intrinsic  beauty  and  interest ;  which,  after  all,  really 
need  no  contrast  of  vice  to  make  them  attractive. 
If  this  work  be  successful,"  repeated  Gertrude,  "  I 
will  then  show  it  to  Philip,  for  it  is  the  best  thing  I 
have  done.  I  have  written  it  since  I  have  been 
married — since  I  have  understood  things  better,  and 
since  I  have  gained  a  juster  apjireciation  of  life  and 
human  nature.  Before  I  knew  Philip  I  took  such 
one-sided  views  of  life — all  was  so  dark  to  me  then ! 
I  had  so  little  reliance  on  goodness  and  affection — 
in  fact,  till  I  knew  him,  1  knew  nothing  that  was 
true  and  excellent." 


96  A    BEAUTIFlfL    SPIRIT, 

Mrs.  Durant  was  in  most  happy  humour  to-d».y» 
and  received  even  the  wife  and  child  of  Pliilip 
Durant  with  kindness  ;  nor  was  she  in  the  least 
annoyed  that,  while  Elizabeth  and  the  young  mother 
had  such  a  long  private  conference  together,  the  little 
nursemaid  and  child  were  left  to  keep  her  company. 
The  true  cause  of  all  this  was,  that  the  long-talked- 
of  letter  had  been,  this  very  day,  received  from  Alice 
Franklin. 

Alice  knew  nothing  of  the  contents  of  Mrs,  Betty's 
letters,  and  she  gave  her  own  colouring,  of  course,  to 
affairs.  The  spirit  of  the  letter  seemed  kindness  and 
candour  itself,  and  Mrs.  Durant  was  charmed  with 
it.  Alice  disclaimed  the  idea  of  a  petty  annuity  of 
fifty  pounds  a  year ;  she  begged  Mrs.  Durant  to 
draw  that  sum  at  once,  from  her  banker's,  and 
promised  unbounded  liberality  for  the  future.  She 
hoped,  she  said,  that  Elizabeth,  in  the  early  spring, 
would  pay  her  a  long  visit.  Mrs.  Betty  had  shown 
her  the  room  which  Elizabeth  had  used  during  her 
former  visit  there,  and  she  should  consider,  she  said, 
that  chamber  as  sacred  to  her  friend ;  before  she 
came,  liowcver,  she  would  have  it  re-furnished  for 
her ;  she  had  fixed  in  her  own  mind  on  the  style  of 
furnishing,  she  said  ;  and  she  was  sure  her  friend 
would  like  it,  and  then  that  room  should  always  be 
called  Eilizabeth  Durant's  room. 

Mrs.  Betty,  she  said,  would  still  continue  to  reside 
at  Starkey — at  least  she  wished  her  t*-  do  so, — but 
the  old  lady  was,  she  said,  it  must  be  confessed,  a 
very  peculiar  person,  very  uncompromising  and  very 
free-spoken ;  she  and  her  mother  had  already  had 
several  little  differences  with  her,  but,  for  her  part, 


AND    TEA    WITH    A    FRIEND.  97 

Bhe  could  make  great  allowances  for  her ;  she  hail 
always  had  her  own  way,  (that  was  a  great  niistake 
of  Miss  Franklin's,  and  so  Elizabeth  knew),  and, 
continued  the  letter,  she  belonged  to  the  olJ  seliool, 
and  those  old-fashioned  people  were  always  so 
difficult  to  manage.  Of  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse, 
Alice  said  not  one  word ;  of  Henry  Maitland,  she 
wrote  thus  : — "  Of  course  you  have  heard  about  poor 
Maitland  ;  it  is  all  at  an  end  between  us  now.  I 
wish  he  had  not  come  at  present ;  he  was  to  wait  for 
my  permission,  but  he  always  is  so  impetuous ; 
things  might  have  been  very  different  had  he  only 
waited  awhile.  Still  I  do  not  blame  him,  and  I 
know  that  he  has  suffered  deeply.  A  little  hasty,  1 
myself  may  have  been,  but  then  he  hurried  me  into 
it ;  he  himself  hurried  things  to  this  conclusion. 
It  has  been,  altogether,  an  unfortunate  affair  ;  and, 
now  it  is  over,  I  wish  him,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
soul,  some  one  more  worthy  of  his  good  and  amiable 
qualities  than  I  ever  have  been." 

Elizabeth  sighed  and  shook  her  head  over  this 
letter  ;  whilst  Mrs.  Durant,  in  the  humour  she  then 
was,  could  see  nothing  at  all  blameable  in  Alice's 
conduct.  Her  promised  liberality  smoothed  over  all 
faults,  and  made  Mrs.  Durant  not  only  satisfied  with 
her,  but,  just  then,  with  all  the  Avorld. 

"And  now,  where  are  you  going?"  asked  she, 
as  she  saw  her  daughter  dressed,  ready  to  go  out 
with  Gertrude. 

"  We  are  going,"  replied  Gertrude,  cheerfully, 
"to  make  five  pounds,  if  possible,  do  the  work  of 
ten.  I  want  to  make  Philip's  chambers  more  com- 
fortable  and   more    respectable-looking,    before    hia 

K 


08  A  Beautiful  si>irit. 

return.  I  want  a  carpet,  table,  window-curtains,—* 
a  world  of  things  out  of  my  five  pounds  ;  and,  as  two 
heads  are  better  than  one,  in  difficult  affairs,  I  have 
enlisted  Elizabeth  as  my  assistant." 

"  And  what  parcel  have  you  got  there,  Elizabeth  ?" 
asked  the  mother,  who  was  in  a  talkative  humour, 
glancing  on  the  packet  of  manuscripts,  which  her 
daughter  had  in  her  hand. 

"  It  is  Gertrude's,"  replied  Elizabeth. 

"  And  shall  you  go  anywhere  near  Glynn s  bank? 
it  is  in  Lombard  Street,  you  know,"  asked  her 
mother. 

Elizabeth  thought  they  would. 

"'  Then  call,"  said  Mrs.  Durant,  "  and  present 
that  order  :  we  may  just  as  well  have  the  money  as 
let  it  lie  in  the  bank — we  shall  get  no  interest  for  it 
there." 

Elizabeth  tore  the  order  from  Alice's  letter,  and 
said  she  would  do  as  her  mother  wished. 

"  1  shall  leave  my  little  one  as  a  pledge  for  your 
daughter,"  said  Gertrude,  as  they  were  just  going  out. 

"  That 's  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Durant.  "  But 
stop  a  moment — you  shall  have  tea  with  us  when 
you  return ;  bring  some  muffins  with  you,  Elizabeth, 
and  I  '11  have  the  tea-table  ready  and  water  boilin* 
against  you  return — you'll  be  cold  enough,  and  a  cup 
of  tea  will  be  comfortable.  You  must  take  a  cab 
home,  Mrs.  Pliilip,  and  you  may  just  as  well  take  it 
at  eight  o'clock  as  at  six." 

Nothing  requires  more  deliberation,  nothing  re- 
quires so  much  pains -taking,  as  the  making  five 
pounds  go  as  far  as  ten.  For  instance,  a  second-hand 
vavpet — and  tlie  fair  wife  of  the  young  barrister  did 


AND    TEA     WITH    A    FRIEND.  i>9 

not  aspire  to  a  new  one — a  second-hand  carpet,  we 
Bay,  as  good  as  the  one  for  which  fifty  shillings  is 
here  demanded,  might,  in  another  place,  perhaps,  1  e 
obtained  for  thirty  shillings  j  but  then,  that  other 
place,  perhaps,  may  be  two  miles  off;  well,  that 
does  not  matter — the  two  miles  must  be  gone  over, — 
and,  as  people  who  have  the  important  affair  in  hand 
of  buying,  honestly  and  honourably,  ten  pounds' 
worth  of  things  with  only  five  pounds,  cannot  be  sup- 
posed to  have  much  money  to  spend  in  coach-fare, 
they  must  walk  every  foot  of  the  way,  even  if  it  be 
'  in  dismal  November. 

It  was  a  very  arduous  undertaking  this,  but 
nothing  daunted,  the  two  young  friends  determined 
to  accoraij4ish  it,  if  not  to-day,  at  least  to-morrow. 
The  five  guineas  were  still  in  Gertrude's  purse  ;  the 
manuscript  had  been  left  at  the  publisher's  ;  the  fifty 
pounds  had  been  received  from  Glynn's  bank,  and 
then  it  was  getting  too  late  to  do  anything  more  :  so 
counting  the  diflFerence  between  new  window-curtains 
of  cheap  moreen,  and  second-hand  ones  of  damask, 
and  contriving  how  the  carpet  of  thirty  shillings 
might  be  cut  to  the  size  of  the  room,  every  bad 
piece  cut  out,  joined  again  in  the  pattern,  which 
they  blessed  themselves  was  a  very  good  one  to  join, 
and  made  to  look  as  good  as  new, — to  say  nothing 
of  the  bed-side  carpet,  which  might  be  pieced 
together  of  what  remained,  they  found  quite  enough 
to  occupy  them  on  their  way  home.  It  is  by  no 
means  impossible,  we  can  assure  our  readers,  for  a 
question  of  economy  and  contrivance  to  become  quite 
fascinating ;  it  was  so  on  the  present  occasion :  the 
two  grew  enthusiastic,  and  Elizabeth  declared  shQ 


100  A    BEAUTIFUL    SPIRIT, 

would  go  again  with  her  friend  on  the  morrow,  and 
then  help  her  to  fit  all  down  and  make  all  complete  ; 
and  so  they  reached  home  by  gas-light,  never  thinking 
— not  they — of  the  muffins  they  had  promised  to 
bring  with  them. 

Well,  it  did  not  matter  !  they  did  not  need 
muffins,  in  the  temper  they  two  were,  to  make  tea 
both  welcome  and  agreeable;  toast  would  do  every 
bit  as  well — nay,  even  bread  and  butter.  Mrs. 
Durant,  however,  was  a  little  put  out  of  humour 
about  the  muffins,  she  had  set  her  mind  on  them ;  nor 
was  it  till  she  had  counted  over  her  fifty  pounds 
three  or  four  times,  and  drank  a  cup  of  the  good, 
hot  tea,  which  Elizabeth  made,  and  eaten  a  couple 
of  the  pieces  of  the  nice  toast,  which  Gertrude 
herself  had  toasted,  that  she  returned  to  her  former 
good  humour,  and  the;i  she  began  to  tell  how  good 
the  child  had  been, — how  long  he  had  slept, — how 
he  had  taken  half  a  tea- cup  full  of  milk  and  water: 
and  thus  they  all  together  seemed  the  best  friends  on 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

Just  before  tea  was  ended,  Mr.  Netley  came  in. 
Poor  old  gentleman !  ever  since  his  niece  and  her 
daughter  had  left  hhn,  he  had  seemed  like  an  uneasy 
spirit  that  could  find  rest  nowhere.  In  his  own 
mind  he  was  very  little  satisfied  with  Alice's  good 
fortune ;  it  had  made  him,  and  the  property  he  had 
to  leave,  of  very  little  consequence,  and  besides  this 
it  had  removed  them  from  him.  He  came  very 
often  to  the  Durants',  and  Mrs.  Durant  was  begin- 
ning to  think  that  it  would  not  he  at  all  amiss  if  he 
would  substitute  herself  and  her  daughter  in  hia 
touse  at  Richmond,  in  the   place  of  the  Franklins; 


AND    TEA    "WITH    A    FRIEND.  101 

she  would  have  suggested  the  thing  herself,  but 
then  she  thought  it  had  much  better  come  from 
him  ;  and  as  it  really  was  so  self-evident,  no  doubt 
before  long  it  would.  Such  an  idea,  however,  never 
came  into  the  old  gentleman's  head.  He  was  dis- 
satisfied with  what  he  heard  of  Alice's  mode  of 
conducting  herself  at  Starkey,  and  it  did  him  good  to 
come  to  the  Durants'  and  grumble,  that  was  all. 

"^Vith  Pliilip  Durant's  marriage,  Mr.  Netley  was 
already  acquainted  ;  he  had  seen  his  wife  and  liked 
her,  so  when  he  came  in  this  evening,  all  met  as 
friends.  He,  too,  had  received  a  letter  from  Alice, 
and  he  came  with  it  now  in  his  pocket. 

"  She  writes  mighty  cool  about  everything,"  said 
he,  "  and  seems  never  to  think  that  anything  she 
can  do  is  wrong.  She  talks  of  '  I  shall  do  this,  and 
I  shall  do  that,'  just  as  if  she  had  been  mistress  of 
Starkey  all  her  days.  She  says  it  is  all  at  an  end 
between  her  and  Maitland,  just  with  as  much 
indifference  as  she  might  say,  '  My  old  blue  silk 
gown  is  done  for!'  I  have  not  patience  with  such 
coolness  ;  she  says  she  supposes  I  shall  hear  all  from 
Maitland,  but  she  had  her  reasons  for  what  she  did. 
To  be  sure  !  the  man  who  was  hanged  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  last  week,  had  his  reasons  for  murdering  his 
wife !  I  would  not  give  a  fig  for  reasons  that  are 
good  for  nothing  ;  why  Maitland,  poor  fellow,  is  ill 
of  a  brain  fever,  and  whether  he'll  live  or  die  there  s 
no  knowing.     She  had  her  reasons,  I  dare  say  ! 

"  Old    Maitland   threatens  hard,"    continued   he, 

"what  he'll  do.      She'll  bring  a  pretty  house  over 

her  head — that's  my  notion  1     And  then  there's  this 

Sir   Lynam  Thicknisse ; — old    Maitland   sen*  lue   a 

k2 


J02  A    BEAUTIFUL    SPIRIT,  KTC. 

Durham  paper  this  morning,  in  which  are  queei 
hints  about  her  marrying  him  !  It  is  not  decent,  all 
this  ;  and  the  old  lady  hardly  been  dead  these  two 
months,  and  he,  the  profligate  that  he  is  !  why,  it 
was  he  that  set  the  bells  ringing  for  the  old  lady's 
death!  The  girl's  a  fool!"  said  he,  "her  head  is 
turned  with  her  prosperity  !  She  wants  me  to  go 
and  see  her ;  says  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  I 
must  do  her  the  justice  to  say,  that  she  writes  very 
prettily  and  very  affectionately ;  she  says  that  she 
has  set  aside  a  couple  of  rooms  for  me  ; — wants  me 
to  take  Jonathan  with  me.  I  know  how  it  Is,  she 
wants  to  palm  me  oflf  as  her  rich  old  London  uncle  ! 
and  so  I  must  not  go  without  my  man-servant ;  but 
though  she  is  tlie  lady  of  Starkey  she  can't  make  me 
any  but  plain  Nehemiah  Netley,  who  for  the  better 
part  of  liis  days  was  a  haberdasher  on  Ludgate  Hill, 
and  who  began  the  world  with  eighteenpence,  and 
tliat  1  '11  say  before  any  lord  or  lady  in  the  land  ! 
However,  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  to  take  her  at  her 
word  and  go  and  pay  her  a  visit,  though  it  is  winter. 
If  I  like  what  I  see,  why  I  *11  stay, — if  not,  I  11  e'en 
come  back  again.  I  shall  start  to-morrow  morning,, 
so  whatever  you  have  to  send  I  must  have  to-night  * ' 
There  was  no  time  for  writing.  j\Ir.  Netley  vas 
intrusted,  therefore,  with  verbal  messages  from  both 
Elizabeth  and  her  mother.  Mrs.  Durant  said  she 
meant  to  write  soon  herself,  though  she  had  given 
tip  writing  letters.  Elizabeth  said  she  meant  to 
wi-ite,  and  to  Mrs.  Betty  too  ;  and,  after  promises  on 
his  part  to  deliver  all  faithfully,  he  volunteered  to 
take  Gertrude,  her  little  maid  and  child  home,  in  the 
toach  which  was  to  convey  him  to  Richmond. 


A  CLOUD    BY    THE    FlUESIDii:,    ETC.  108 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    CLOUD   BY    THE    FIRESIDE  ;      AND    WHAT   SHALL   BH 
DONE   NOW  ? 

Alice  had  given  to  herself  great  satisfaction  by 
allowing  Mrs.  Durant  to  receive  fifty  pounds  from  her 
banker's ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  she  wished  she 
had  made  it  a  hundred  at  once.  She  was  pleased  too 
that  she  had  pressed  her  uncle  to  come,  for  though 
she  did  not  exactly  wish  him  to  accept  the  invitation 
in  the  present  state  of  affairs,  and  while  his  mind 
would  be  irritated  about  young  iMaitland,  it  was  quite 
as  well  to  show  all  customary  respect  to  him.  She 
felt  certain  in  her  own  mind  that  he  would  not 
undertake  the  journey  during  the  winter  ;  he  would, 
most  likely,  wait  till  spring,  till  long  days  and  warm 
ones  came,  for  she  knew  perfectly  his  aversion  to  cold 
weather  and  long  journey's. 

"  Poor  old  gentleman  !"  That  very  hour,  v.'hilst 
she  was  thinking  this,  a  week  or  more  perhaps  after 
she  had  written  her  letter,  he  too  was  thinking  his ' 
thoughts. 

"  Dear  child  !"  mused  he  to  himself,  "  I  am  glad 
she  remembers  her  old  uncle  !  and  Avith  all  her  faults 
I  am  very  fond  of  her  !  She  has,  it  is  true,  behaved 
shamefully  to  poor  Maitland;  —  but  I  dare  say  I  can 
set  all  right  again, — her  mother  ought  to  have  seen 
after  this,  but  women. ..."  Mr.  Netley,  it  must  be 
remembered,  was  an  old  bachelor  :  "  Women,"  mused 


104.  A    CLOUD    BY    THE    FIRESIDE; 

he,  "  from  the  very  creation  of  the  world  were  always 
taking  some  wrong  step  or  another  ;  they  are  not  fit 
to  be  trusted,  poor  things;  so  I'll  e'en  go  and  see  if  I 
can't  set  things  straight  between  her  and  Maitland  !" 

So  thought  the  good  old  gentleman,  and  made 
preparations  for  the  journey.  He  ordered  Jonathan, 
his  servant,  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  accompany 
him ;  which  was  no  small  delight  to  the  ancient  do- 
mestic, for  thus  he  should  be  able  to  satisfy  eve.ry 
body,  baker,  butcher,  grocer,  and  even  the  family 
washerwoman,  as  to  the  exact  degree  of  grandeur  to 
which  Miss  Alice  was  advanced. 

Mr.  Netley  did  not  set  off  quite  so  early  as  he 
expected  however,  for  when  all  was  ready  for  the 
journey,  and  the  next  day  was  fixed  upon  for  setting 
out,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  order  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  for  his  servant:  and  thus  a  delay  of  ten  days 
tnsued,  during  which  some  circumstances  occurred 
at  Starkey,  by  no  means  unworthy  of  record. 

Whatever  might  be  Alice's  real  feelings  after  read- 
ing the  letter  which  Mrs.  Joplin,  of  the  Thicknisse 
Arms,  delivered  into  her  hands,  nobody  ever  knew 
them  ;  still  it  is  a  fact,  that  she  was  scarcely  seen  by 
any  one  for  several  days ;  and  the  persons  who  com- 
posed the  small  dinner-party  at  General  Byerly's, 
and  who  were  invited  to  meet  the  heiress  and  her 
mother,  found  fertile  subject  for  conjecture  and  gossip 
in  her  pale  dejected  countenance,  and  in  the  rumour, 
which  spread  far  and  wide,  of  a  heart-broken  rejected 
London  lover.  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse  too,  not  only 
observed  her  altered  appearance,  but  must  have  had 
some  little  apprehension  for  himself,  from  the  step 
he  took  immediately  after  the  call  which  he  made 


AND    WHAT    SHALL    BE    DONE    NOW  1  105 

upon  her,  and  Avhich  was  chronicled  in  Mrs.  Betty's 
last  letter. 

*'Good  bye,  Miss  Franklin,"  said  he  at  parting;  "  I 
give  you  seven  days  to  recover  your  spirits  in.  In 
that  time  I  shall  again  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  as  beautiful,  and  I  hope,  as  gay  as  ever.  I  go 
this  evening  to  Durham  on  important  business." 

There  was  something  Alice  thought  presumptuous 
in  Sir  Lynam's  manner,  something  too,  offensive  in 
his  words  ;  and  she  who,  without  the  slightest  inten- 
tion of  returning  favour  to  Maitland,  had  already 
drawn  comparisons  between  the  two  to  the  disad- 
vantage of  Sir  Lynam,  bade  him  adieu  with  studied 
haughtiness  and  coldness. 

To  Durham  Sir  Lynam  went,  and  sate  down  the 
next  morning  in  the  office  of  a  lawyer  named  Metcalf. 
Mctcalf  and  he  were  old  acquaintance,  and  this  was 
not  the  first  time  that  they  two  had  met  on  the 
particular  business  which  had  now  brought  them 
together. 

"  It  is  an  excellent  thing,"  said  Sir  Lynam,  "  and 
one  which  properly  managed  may  give  me  great 
power  over  her;  I'll  double  your  fees,  Metcalf,  if 
this  be  accomplished  to  my  wishes." 

"  That  she  has  no  present  right  to  Starkey,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  no  right  at  all  during  the  natural  life  of  Mrs. 
Betty  Thicknisse,  is  as  clear  as  daylight,  as  you  may 
see  in  the  codicil  to  Sir  Timothy's  will,  of  which  this 
is  a  copy."  And  although  Sir  Lynam  knew  the  codicil 
almost  by  heart,  Metcalf  read  it  again:  "And  further- 
more I,  the  said  Sir  Timothy  Thicknisse,  demise  that 
the  estate  and  property  of  Starkey  shall  be  held  by 
the  direct  luiis,  so  loner   as  any  of  them,   male  ol 


1U6  A    CLOL'D    BY    THK    FIUKSIDE  ; 

female,  remain  in  the  third  descent ;  and  aftei  the 
death  of  the  last  only  to  revert  to  the  then  existing 
descendant  or  descendants,  male  or  female,  of  the 
said  Joan  Merivale,  as  before  stated."  "  Thus  you 
see,  Sir  Lynam,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  it  is  as  I  imagined  , 
this  reversion,  on  the  death  of  the  late  Sir  Sampson, 
passed  legally  to  his  sister,  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse, 
and  only  on  her  death  can  revert  to  Miss  Franklin." 

"  I  see  that,"  said  Sir  Lynam ;  "  I  want  to  esta- 
blish no  right  of  claim  for  Mrs.  Betty — I  want  not  to 
dispossess  Miss  Franklin,  but  merely — " 

"  Oh,  I  understand  you  perfectly,"  said  Metcalf; 
"  you  make  use  of  this  knowledge  as  you  best  know 
how." 

"  No  codicil  has  ever  been  acknowledged  at 
Starkey,"  said  Sir  Lynam,  not  deeming  it  necessary 
to  notice  his  friend's  remark  further — "  the  late  Lady 
Thicknisse  knew  nothing  of  it — nor  Mr.  Twislfden 
■ — what  think  you?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Metcalf,  ''  that  the  late  Lady 
Thicknisse  was  lawyer  good  enough  to  know  that 
such  a  codicil  made  her  possession  of  Starkey  not 
worth  an  hour's  purchase,  and  that  it  was  probably 
destroyed  ;  ]\Irs.  Betty  has  always  been  looked  upon 
as  a  sort  of — "  Metcalf  paused,  tapped  his  fcrehead, 
and  looked  as  if  he  meant  the  action  to  express  a 
great  deal. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Sir  Lynam :  "  not  quite 
80  sharp  as  some  people.  It  would  be  quite  throwing 
the  place  away  to  let  it  get  into  her  hands." 

Metcalf  said  he  quite  agreed  with  him  it  would, 
and  that  if  Sir  Lynam  played  his  cards  well,  he 
might  turn  the  knowled":e  he  had  thus  obtained  to 


AND    WHAT    SHALL    BE   DONE    NOW?  107 

great  account  with  the  heiress,  but  that  some  de- 
cided step  must  be  taken  immediately,  for  that  other 
lawyers  might  think  of  examining  the  probate  copy 
of  the  will,  and  then  Mrs.  Betty  would  commence  a 
suit  and  carry  it,  for  that  not  all  the  lawyers  in 
England  could  decide  it  against  her  :  she  might  live 
twenty  years,  and  ail  that  while  Miss  Franklin  could 
not  claim  a  sixpence. 

Sir  Lynam  thought  that  in  twenty  years  Alice 
would  be  no  longer  young,  and  twenty  years  of  un- 
thrift  would  leave  him  a  beggar ;  besides  which,  he 
had  of  late  counted  so  confidently  on  carrying  off  so 
triumphantly  both  Stavkey  and  the  heiress,  it  would 
never  do  to  lose  it,  for  if  it  got  into  Mrs.  Betty's 
hands,  he  should  never  think  of  marrying  her,  nor 
indeed,  with  all  his  art,  should  he  ever  have  any 
chance  of  succeeding,  wei-e  he  to  try. 

"  To  be  €ure,"  he  said,  "  something  must  be  done 
immediately."  Metcalf  must  devise  some  plan  for 
cutting  off  Mrs.  Betty's  claim. 

The  lawyer  sate  and  thought,  and  so  did  Sir 
Lynam,  and  the  more  he  thought  the  better  he  was 
pleased.  This  discovery  would  give  him  power  over 
Alice,  and  if  she  consented  to  disinherit  Mrs.  Betty, 
it  must  be  done  with  liis  knowledge;  she  might  be 
cold  or  haughty  as  she  then  would,  but  she  would 
have  committed  herself  with  him — he  should  have 
a  secret  of  hers  in  his  keeping,  and  that  was  so  much 
power  gained  over  her.  For  one  moment  the  ques- 
tion suggested  itself — had  she  not  higli-flown  romantic 
notions  of  honour  and  generosity?  which  would  make 
her  scorn  a  base  action — might  she  not,  for  the  sake 
of  the  e'clat  of  the  thing,  throw  herself  on  the  mercy 


iOS  A  ci\Ui^  Bif  THE  fireside; 

of  Mrs.  Betty,  and  maLe  terms  with  her?  That 
would  ruin  all ;  for  that  would  ally  the  two,  make  the 
two  fast  friends,  make  Alice  dependent  on  Mrs. 
Betty,  and  she,  he  well  knew,  was  no  friend  of  his. 
All  this  might  be,  and  if  it  were  probable,  it  were 
alarming;  but  a  few  moments'  consideration  dismissed 
Sir  Lynam's  fear  :  Alice  was  too  much  flattered  by 
the  entire  possession  of  Starkey  to  share  it  with  any 
one  ;  he  felt  pretty  sure  that  she  would  hold  it  fast 
now  she  had  got  it.  Metcalf  thought  the  same ;  and 
though  Sir  Lynam  did  not  open  out  all  his  views  to 
his  lawyer,  he  found  no  little  satisfaction  in  his 
lawyer  volunteering  an  opinion  on  this  subject  which 
was  so  perfectly  according  to  his  wishes.  Next,  some 
little  difficulty  occurred  about  Mr.  Twisleden ;  the 
old  gentleman  was  a  most  respectable  man,  and  could 
boast  of  a  character  without  a  blemish — what  part 
would  he  take  in  the  affair?  Neither  one  or  the 
other  could  say  positively ;  Sir  Lynam,  however, 
thought  from  his  own  private  observation,  but  he  did 
not  tell  Metcalf  so,  that  Twisleden  would  do  exactly 
what  Alice  wished.  He  must  be  piade  acquainted, 
however,  with  this  unlocked  for  discovery  ;  Metcalf, 
it  was  decided,  should  write  to  him,  should  desire  an 
immediate  interview  either  at  Starkey  or  in  Durham, 
and  Sir  Lynam  should  wait  in  Durham  for  the 
result. 

Whilst  all  this  was  going  on  at  twenty  miles'  dis- 
tance, domestic  disunion  seemed  to  have  settled  down 
at  Staj-key.  Mrs.  Betty's  sympathies  had  been  so 
much  excited  by  the  little  narrative  of  the  hostess  of 
the  Thscknisse  Arms  respecting  Maitland,  that  the 
kind-hearted  old  lady  could  not  get  him  out  of  her 


AND    WHAT    SHALL    BE    BONE    NOW?  100 

mind  ;  she  thought  of  him  and  shed  tears,  and  as  she 
wept  she  only  grew  more  angry  and  out  of  patience 
with  Alice.  Sir  Lynam  came  and  went  just  as 
usual ;  and  without  knowing  that  Alice  and  he  had 
parted  coldly,  she  censured  her  with  a  severity  almost 
unnatural  to  a  being  so  gentle  as  Mrs.  Betty. 

"  I  declare  I  must  speak  out  my  mind,"  at  last  she 
said  to  herself;  "it  is  only  right  1  should;  she  is  a 
lovely  young  creature,  with  all  her  faults ;  she  is 
tempted  beyond  her  strength  by  this  great  inheritance; 
she  comes  here  a  stranger,  in  ignorance  of  people's 
characters  ;  and  her  mother  wants  sense,  or  discern- 
ment, or  something,  not  to  see  through  a  designing 
wretch  like  Sir  Lynam." 

Warmed  by  the  generous  desire  of  saving  Alice 
from  a  false  step,  Mrs.  Betty  took  her  netting  in  her 
hand,  and  went  to  take  coffee  with  Alice  and  her 
mother  that  same  evening.  She  had  not  done  so  of 
late,  and  the  two  were  filled  with  surprise  when  she 
entered.  Unfortunately,  there  had  just  been  a  slight 
misunderstanding  between  them  respecting  Mr.  Net- 
ley's  visit,  and  neither  of  them  were  in  the  happiest 
of  tempers.  Alice  lay  on  the  sofa  reading  a  new 
novel,  which  was  just  then  published,  and  ]\Irs. 
Franklin  was  writing. 

Both '  mother  and  daughter  looked  up  at  Mrs. 
Betty's  entrance ;  both  wondered  what  had  made  her 
come ;  and  then,  after  an  exchange  of  the  merest 
commonplaces  of  the  day,  both  pursued  their  occu- 
pations as  liefore.  Mrs.  Betty  th  mght  that  presently 
they  would  put  them  aside  out  of  respect  to  her,  but 
Mrs.  Betty  was  not  of  importance  enough  for  that. 
One  hour  went  on  ;  the  mother  still  wrote,  and  the 
I. 


110  A    CLOUD    BY    THE    FIRESIDE; 

daughter  still  read ;  and  had  the  poor  old  lady  had 
the  temper  of  an  angel,  she  could  not  have  helped 
being  chagrined. 

The  servant  brought  in  coffee  ;  Alice  bade  him 
make  it  and  hand  it  round :  she  was  too  much 
absorbed  by  her  book  to  leave  it.  Mrs.  Franklin 
drank  her  coffee,  chatted  a  very  little  with  Mrs. 
Betty,  and  then  apologised  by  continuing  her  writing. 
"  She  was  writing,"  she  said,  "  to  Mr.  Netley,  and 
must  finish  her  letter  that  night."  Alice  read  on, 
and  Mrs.  Betty  tried,  but  in  vain,  to  be  in  good 
humour.  She  might  have  returned  to  her  own  room, 
out  she  had  always  a  great  dislike  to  looking,  as  she 
called  it,  "  huffy,"  so  she  sat  where  she  was. 

Presently  Mr  Twisleden  came.  Alice  laid  down 
her  book  and  began  to  look  lively.  The  old  gentle- 
man apologised  for  his  visit,  which,  he  said,  was  one  of 
ousiness :  he  was  now  prepared,  he  said,  to  pay  all 
the.  legacies.  Alice  declared  that  she  never  attended 
to  business  after  dinner;  she  began  to  talk  of  the 
book  she  had  been  reading,  told  him  she  had  found 
an  air  to  the  song  he  had  expressed  a  wish  to  hear 
her  sing,  and,  so  saying,  sat  down  to  her  harp. 

"  The  coquet !  the  cold-hearted  coquet !"  thought 
Mrs.  Betty,  as  she  heard  Alice's  exquisite  voice  quaver 
forth  its  thrilling  tones,  and  the  poor  old  gentleman 
gazing  on  her  with  undisguised  admiration. 

Mrs.  Franklin  put  aside  her  unfinished  letter,  and 
suggested  yet  another  and  yet  another  song  for  "  dear 
old  Mr.  Twisleden."    . 

Which  was  the  most  foolish — mother  or  daughter 

-Mrs.  Betty  could  not  tell;    the  fact  was,   Mrs. 

|!'ranklin  was  so  well  pleased  to  see  Alice  again  in 


AND     UHAT    SHALL,    BK    DOXE   NOW?  Hu 

good  humour,  that  it  made  her  quite  lively,  and  al\ 
the  more  so,  hecause  she  wished  her  daughter  to  feel 
that  all  was  again  smooth  between  them. 

Mr.  Twisleden  sat  and  sat;  Alice  left  her  harp, 
and  made  the  old  gentleman  sit  down  beside  her, 
and  guess  charades  ;  they  grew  so  amazingly  lively 
that  it  was  quite  wonderful.  Mrs.  Franklin  laughed 
till  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  but  at  what  Mrs. 
Betty  could  not  tell  for  her  life,  and  she  grew  more 
grave  than  ever  ;  and  then,  beginning  to  think  of  poor 
Maitland,  she  became  quite  angry. 

At  last,  Mr.  Twisleden,  at  the  silver  voice  of  the 
time-piece  striking  ten,  rose  to  take  his  leave ;  but 
Alice  would  i)uly  consent  to  his  then  going  on  condi- 
tion of  his  drinking  her  health  in  a  glass  of  fine  old 
wine,  of  which  she  said  she  would  send  a  bottle  to  his 
room.  She  had  the  butler  summoned  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  ordered  half-a-dozen  into  Mr.  Twisleden's 
room. 

"  What  a  dear  old  creature  he  is  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Franklin,  when  he  was  gone. 

"  You  will  turn  his  head.  Miss  Franklin  ! "  said 
Mrs.  Betty,  putting  her  netting  by  in  its  case,  and 
speaking  impatiently. 

"  Nay,  dear  Mrs.  Betty,  don't  be  out  of  humour," 
said  Alice ;  "  and  I  want  to  say  something  to  you — do 
Bit  down  again,  dear  Mrs.  Betty." 

The  old  lady  sat  down  again,  and  thought,  too, 
that  she  also  wanted  to  say  something. 

"  I  wished  to  ask,"  said  Alice,  •■'  whether  you  would 
have  any  objection  to  change  your  two  rooms,  Mi's. 
Betty?" 

Mrs.  Betty  looked  at  her  in  amazem  n;.      '•  Yes, 


112  A    CLOUD    BY    THE    FIRESIDE; 

Miss  Franklin,"  she  said,  "I  should  :  I  may  just  as 
well  be  candid  as  not ;  I  should  have  a  very  great 
objection." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Alice ;  "  but  I  wish  to 
mention  to  you  an  alteration  I  am  just  about  to 
make." 

"  Never  mind  it,  my  dear,  now,"  said  her  mother, 
seeing  the  cloud  on  Mrs.  Betty's  brow. 

"  I  may  as  well  mention  it  now  as  at  any  other 
time,"  returned  Alice ;  and  Mrs.  Franklin,  who  hatbd 
of  all  things  to  have  disputes  with  her  daughter, 
determined  to  hold  her  peace,  and  let  Alice  have  her 
own  way. 

"It  is  best,  Mrs.  Betty,"  said  Alice,  "  that  we 
should  understand  one  another  at  first.  I  wish  to 
have  no  strife  ;  but  I  am  mistress  here.  I  am  about 
to  complete  my  suite  of  rooms;  yours  adjoin  my 
dressing-room  ;  I  like  the  aspect  of  them  greatly — 
though  there  is  not  much  view,  and  though  they  are 
low,  still  they  will  be  more  convenient  for  me  than 
any  other.  I  have  made  my  arrangements,  Mrs. 
Betty,"  continued  she,  seeing  that  lady  did  not  reply; 
"  and  you  will  oblige  me  by  making  choice  of  two 
others.  The  late  Lady  Thicknisse's  rooms  are  much 
better  than  yours — much  loftier,  and  better  furnished. 
It  is  my  desire,"  continued  Alice,  after  having  waited 
half  a  second  for  Mrs.  Betty's  reply,  but  in  vain — 
"  quite  my  desire  to  make  all  things  agreeable  to  you, 
but  you  must  expect  some  little  changes." 

Mrs.  Betty,  who,  naturally,  was  as  amiable  as  most 
human  beings,  might,  nevertheless,  after  a  certain 
degree  of  forbearance,  be  roused  up  to  a  most  deter- 
mined opposition,  and  then  she  was  as  obstinate  as 


AND    WHAT  SHALL    BIC  DONE    NOW?  1]? 

•he  had  been  mild  before;  it  was  so  on  the  present 
occasion.  She  listened  to  Alice,  first  in  sorrow  aun 
then  in  anger,  and  at  last  made  her  indignant  reply. 

"  After  all  that  I  have  seen,"  said  she,  "  1  shall 
not  easily  be  surprised  at  any  changes  you  may  think 
it  fit  to  make  ;  but  one  thing  I  can  tell  you,  Miss 
Franklin,  that  when  I  give  up  my  rooms,  I  leave 
Starkey  altogether.  I  had  rather  have  those  rooms 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  house.  They  were  the 
favourite  rooms  of  my  mother;  I  sat  in  them  as 
a  child ;  when  I  left  school  they  were  given  to  me 
as  my  own — they  were  mine  during  my  brother  Sir 
Sampson's  life-time ;  my  poor  sister-in-law  never 
thought  of  taking  them  from  me ;  they  have  been 
mine  for  upwards  of  forty  years ;  and  I  must  say  that 
I  think  it  a  great  want  of  respect,  not  to  say  something 
more,  that  you,  a  young  person  and  a  stranger  here, 
to  whom  every  room  must  be  alike,  should  think  even 
of  proposing  it — say  nothing  of  talking  in  the  high 
strain  of  being  mistress  here.  It  is  KOt  becoming  in 
you.  Miss  Franklin,  let  me  tell  you,  but  still  it  is  no 
more  than  one  might  expect ;  for  when  a  young  lady 
will  make  herself  a  country's  talk  about  a  reprobate 
like  Sir  Lynam,  and  flirt  with  an  old  creature  like 
poor  Mr.  Twisleden,  and  turn  off  a  worthy  lover  like 
young  Mr.  Maitland,  an  old  woman  like  me  has  no 
right  to  expect  good  treatment." 

"Mrs.  Betty  !"  exclaimed  Alice,  in  great  indigna- 
tion. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Betty,"  remonstrated  her  mother. 

"  No,  Miss  Franklin,"  continued  she,  regarding 
neither  one  nor  the  other,  *'  I  don't  expect  anything 
very  great  from  you  ;   but  this  I  have  a  right  to  expect, 

L  2 


114  A  CLOUD    BY    THE    FIRESIDE; 

some  little  common  decency  and  respect. — Yon 
yourself  invited  me  to  stay  here.*  '  It  shall  be  your 
home,  Mrs.  Betty,'  you  said,  'as  long  as  you  live,  and 
I  hope  you'll  never  have  occasion  to  regret  my 
coming  here.'" 

Alice  attempted  to  speak,  but  the  old  lady  continued. 

"•  That  was  very  pretty  and  well  said  of  you,  Miss 
Franklin  ;  but  it  was  no  more  than  was  rfght,  seeing 
I  had  no  home  but  this,  and  the  house  was  so  much 
larger  than  you  could  want  for  years ;  and  I  shall 
now  consider  any  attempt  to  turn  me  out  of  my 
rooms  as  a  hint  for  me  to  go, — so,  unless  you  really 
mean  that,  say  no  more  about  it."  And  with  these 
words,  without  waiting  for  a  syllable  of  reply,  Mrs. 
Betty  left  the  room. 

Mr.  Twisleden  drank  the  health  of  the  fair  lady 
his  mistress  in  some  of  the  wine  she  had  sent  him, 
and,  fairly  beside  liimself  with  her  flatteries,  although 
he  never  was  fool  enough  to  dream  of  lier  love,  he 
vowed,  half  drunk  as  he  was,  to  live  and  die  for  her. 

Scarcely  was  he  up  the  next  morning,  when  he  was 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  Mr.  IVIetcalf  of  Durham, 
and  received  from  him  the  astounding  intelligence 
that  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse,  and  not  the  fair  Alice 
Franklin,  was  the  present  rightful  heir  of  Starkey. 
Mr.  Twisleden  said  very  little — his  principal  question 
being  as  to  the  mode  of  Mr.  Metcalf's  making  the 
discovery  ;  on  hearing  which,  he  rubbed  his  chin  and 
seemed  lost  in  thought.  Mr.  Metcalf  thought  that 
his  brother  lawyer  knew  something  of  this  codicil 
before,  but  as  Twisleden  did  not  tell  him  so,  he  kept 
his  thoughts  to  himself.  Mr.  Twisleden  accompanied 
him  to  Durham ;   and  all  that  day,  and  the  next,  and 


AND    WHAT    SHALL    BE  DONE    NOW  ^  115 

till  the  end  of  the  week,  he  remained  in  that  city 
having  long  and  frequent  consultations  with  him,  at 
which  Sir  Lynam  was  mostly  present. 

It  was  now  two  days  since  Alice  and  Mrs.  Betty 
had  their  misunderstanding  ;  and  in  this  time  the  dear 
old  lady  had  repented  of  her  warmth  of  temper. — 
The  very  fact  of  her  having  erred  in  temper  made  her 
placable  towai-ds  Alice, — made  her  almost,  if  not 
altogether,  overlook  her  unkindness,  and  forgive  the 
unreasonableness  of  her  desires. 

Alice  knew,  or  ought  to  have  known,  how  strong 
local  attachments  are  in  natures  like  Mrs.  Betty's  ; 
and  it  was  cruel  to  distress  or  take  advantage  of  an 
inoffensive  person  like  her,  who  had  but  few  pleasures, 
and  who  was  the  most  unselfish  of  human  beings. 

Poor  IVIrs.  Betty  !  She  was  sorry  fur  the  hard 
things  she  had  said,  though  she  still  thought  Alice 
deserved  all  that  had  reference  to  her  behaviour  to 
her  lovers,  including  the  old  lawyer  among  them;  but 
so  sorry,  nevertheless,  was  she,  tiiat  she  was  almost 
inclined  to  give  up  her  rooms,  to  show  that  she  was 
neither  selfish  nor  unreasonable.  Alice,  in  the  mean 
time,  was  suffering  from  wounded  vanity;  and  vanity 
wounded,  if  it  heal  at  all,  heals  but  slowly.  She  was 
more  determined  than  ever  to  show  herself  mistress 
there,  and  she  began  to  turn  over  schemes  in  her  own 
mind  for  getting  rid  of  the  old  lady  altogether. 

Such  were  her  thoughts,  only  in  part  unfolded  to 
her  mother.  One  morning,  when  Sir  Lynam  Thick- 
nisse  was  announced,  she  thought  instantly  of  Mrs. 
Betty's  words,  how  she  had  made  herself  a  country's 
talk  for  a  reprobate  like  him,  and,  as  Mrs.  Betty  waa 
cot  present,  she  received  him  with  something  of  the 


116  A   CLOUD    BY    TUB    FIRESIDE; 

hauteur  with  which  she  had  taken  leave  of  him.  Sii 
Lynam  chuckled  in  his  own  mind  over  her  coldness, 
and  thought  how  he  should  spread  a  snare  about  her 
from  which  she  would  not  escape,  unless  slie  were  far 
more  disinterested  than  he  took  her  to  be.  He 
assumed,  therefore,  a  coldness  equal  to  her  own ; 
apologised  for  his  intrusion,  which  he  said  was  only 
in  consequence  of  his  wish  to  prevent  her  receiving 
what  he  had  to  communicate  through  less  friendly 
channels, 

Alice  grew  almost  pale,  and  Mrs.  Franklin,  starting 
to  her  daughter's  side,  exclaimed,  "  For  Heaven's 
sake.  Sir  Lynam, — what  have  you  to  say  V 

Alice  thought  of  Maitland— perhaps  they  two  had 
fought  a  duel  and  he  was  shot ;  and  Mrs.  Franklin 
thought  of  a  suit  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage. 

Sir  Lynam,  in  the  mean  time,  coolly  took  half  a 
sheet  of  fetter-paper  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and 
laid  it  before  Alice,  It  was  a  copy  of  the  codicil  of 
.Sir  Timothy's  will,  under  which,  ia  very  few  words, 
was  written  the  legal  opinion  of  Mr.  Metcalf, — 
namely,  that  during  the  life-time  of  Mrs,  Betty 
Thicknisse,  Alice's  right  of  possession  was  not  worth 
an  hour's  purchase. 

Alice  neither  screamed,  nor  fainted,  nor  fell  into 
hysterics. 

"  What  proof  have  I,"  asked  she,  in  a  tone  of 
cool  displeasure,  "  that  this  paper  is  worth  any- 
thing ? " 

Her  mother  hastily  glanced  at  the  paper  which  her 
daughter  held. 

"  We  never  heard  before  of  an}'  codicil  to  Sir 
Timothy's  will, — and  who  is  this  Mr,  Metcalf  who 


AND  WHAT  SHALL  BE  DONE  NOW  ?      117 

thus  obtrudes  his  opinion?"  asked  Alice,  as  Sii 
Lynam  gave  no  answer  to  her  first  query. 

"  I  will  send  instantly  for  Mr.  Twislerlen,"  said 
Mrs.  Franklin." 

*'  Mr.  Twisleden  is  in  Durham,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Franklin, '  said  Sir  Lynam  speaking  at  once  in  hia 
most  friendly  voice.  "  He  is  gone  over  in  consequence 
of  this  astounding  discover}'." 

Whether  it  was  that  Sir  Lynam 's  altered  voice 
and  manner  subdued  Alice,  or  whether  it  was  the 
natural  effect  of  her  overwrought  feelings,  we  know 
not — but,  proud  as  she  was,  she  sat  down  and  burst 
into  tears.  This  emotion,  however,  continued  only  a 
moment;  but  it  is  astonishing  how  different  her 
manner  was  to  Sir  Lynam  when  she  next  addressed 
him.  "It  has  been  very  kind  of  you,"  said  she, 
''to  prevent  my  hearing  of  this,  as  I  might  have  done, 
from  strangers ;  tell  me  now  all  tliat  you  know  about 
it,  and  what  is  your  honest  opinion. — Did  the 
late  Lady  Thicknisse  know  nothing  of  it,  nor  Mr. 
Twisleden  ?  " 

Sir  Lynam  leaned  upon  the  table  by  which  he  was 
seated,  and  looked  like  Alice's  best  friend.  "  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  say,"  returned  he,  "  what  know- 
ledge the  late  Lady  Thicknisse  had  of  this  fact.  My 
opinion,  however,  is,  that  she  knew  it,  and  that  she 
destroyed  the  codicil  to  the  will  in  her  possession. 
As  to  Mr.  Twisleden — "  Here  Sir  Lynam  paused  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Alice.  "  Do  you 
think  Mr.  Twisleden  is  not  to  be  trusted?" 

"  Mr.  Twisleden,"  returned  Sir  Lynam,  "  was  the 
confidential  friend  and  professional  adviser  of  Lady 


118  A   CLOUD   BY    THE    FIRESIDE  ; 

Thicknisse,  and  he  never  betrayed  his  trust ;  h4 
is  no  less  worthy  of  your  confidence — nay,  indeed, 
he  would  serve  you  with  a  zeal  he  never  could 
be  expected  to  feel  for  your  predecessor." 

"'And  what  does  Mr.  Twisleden  say  to  this  dis- 
covery ? "  asked  Alice,  taking  no  notice  of  the  expres- 
sive half-smile  which  accompanied  Sir  Lynam's  words, 
and  which  was  meant  to  imply  that  Alice  had  un- 
bounded influence  over  the  old  lawyer. 

"  He  holds,"  returned  Sir  Lynam,  "  precisely  the 
same  opinion  as  Mr.  Metcalf ;  there  cannot  be  differ- 
ence of  opinion." 

"  But,"  asked  Mrs.  Franklin,  "  if  the  late  Lady 
Thicknisse  destroyed  this  codicil  to  Sir  Timothy's 
will,  how  comes  it  that  this  Mr.  Metcalf  is  become  so 
learned  on  the  matter  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  "    said  Alice. 

"  The  probate-copy  of  the  will,"  answered  Sir 
Lynam,  "  retains  the  copy ;  Mr.  Metcalf,  either  for 
curiosity,  or  in  the  prosecution  of  some  law  inquiry, 
examined  this  will  in  the  ecclesiastical  court  in 
Durham,  and  made  the  discovery  ;  he  communicated 
it  to  me.  He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  wished  to 
benefit  me  thereby  ;  but  the  discovery  avails  nothing 
to  me, — though  it  is  of  the  most  vital  consequence  to 
you.  I  sent  over  for  Twisleden,  and  I  assure  you," 
said  Sir  Lynam,  smiling  again,  "  that  the  poor 
old  gentleman  showed  fiir  more  distress  and  agitation 
than  you  have  done. — '  We'll  secure  it  to  Miss  Frank- 
lin/ said  he,  '  spite  of  a  dozen  codicils — though,' 
said  he,  '  if  this  came  into  a  court  of  law,  not  all  the 
wigs  and  gowns  in  the  kingdom  could  decide  contrary 
to  the  will.'  And  Twisleden  is  right,"  added  Sir 
Lynam. 


AND   WHAT   SHALL   BlC    DONE    NOW  ?  119 

And  does  Mrs.  Betty  know  anything  of  this  ?" 
asked  Alice,  with  an  anxiety  of  manner  which  be- 
trayed her  feelings, 

"  Good  Heavens !  no !"  returned  he ;  "  that  would 
be  absurd  indeed." 

Alice  was  glad  Sir  Lynam  said  so,  for  that  was  her 
opinion,  though  she  was  not  quite  prepared  to  say  so. 

"  Mrs.  Betty  may  live  twenty  years,"  said  Sir 
Lynam,  artfully ;  "  it  is  Mr.  Twisleden's  opinion — 
her  constitution  is  excellent,  though  she  is  not  the 
wisest  person  living." 

''  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Alice,  thinking  to  herself 
that  if  Mrs.  Betty  got  possession  of  Starkey,  and 
lived  twenty  years,  she  herself  should  be  four-and- 
forty  before  she  could  again  enjoy  it. 

"  Certainly,"  repeated  Sir  Lynam,  and  added 
laughingly,  that  there  was  not  the  least  reason  in  the 
world  to  tell  Mrs.  Betty  about  it.  "  The  late  Lady 
Thicknisse,"  he  said,  "  had  been  quite  right ;  Mrs 
Betty  was  not  fit  to  have  the  management  of  a  place 
like  Starkey." 

A  servant  at  that  moment  entered,  and  said  that 
Mrs.  and  General  Byerly  had  called.  "  Sot  at 
home,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin. 

The  servant  said,  with  the  utmost  politeness,  that 
the  ladies  were  not  at  home.  The  Byerlys  saw  Sir  ■ 
Lynam's  groom  leading  about  his  master's  horse,  and 
they  knew  that  he  was  there.  They  adopted,  there- 
fore, the  idea  that  was  universally  prevalent,  that  the 
heiress  was  really  receiving  the  addresses  of  Sir 
Lynam  Thicknesse,  which  no  little  displeased  them, 
for   they   themselves  had  a  son  for  whom,  in  the 


120  A    CLOUD    BY    THE   FIRESIDE  ; 

famay  arrangements,  Alice  Franklin  had  been  fixed 
on  as  wife. 

Mr.  Twisleden  came  next  day  from  Durham. 

He  liimself,  as  Sir  Lynam  had  said,  held  the  same 
opinion  as  Mr,  Metcalf,  and  he  told  Alice  so  with 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

*'  Must  I  then  give  up  Starkey  ?"  asked  she,  with 
a  deep  sigh,  which  penetrated  to  the  depths  of  the 
old  gentleman's  soul. 

"  Not  if  our  law-craft  can  keep  it  for  you  ;  and  1 
think  it  can,"  replied  he. 

"  I  am  moi-tified,"  said  Alice,  confidentially,  to 
her  old  friend — for  twelve  hours  had  passed  since  the 
conference  with  Sir  Lynam,  and  twelve  hours  often 
set  things  in  a  very  different  light, — "  I  am  deeply 
mortified,*'  said  she,  "  that  Sir  Lynam  knows  so 
much  of  this  affair." 

Mr.  Twisleden  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  That 
Mr.  Metcalf  was  a  friend  and  old  associate  of  Sir 
Lynam 's,  and  that,  after  all,  he  thought  it  was  a  deal 
better  that  the  affair  was  known  to  him  than  to  an- 
other less  interested  ;  the  most  natural  thing  was  to 
make  known  this  discovery  to  Mrs.  Betty — this  Mr. 
Metcalf  would  not  do — Sir  Lynam  had  prevented 
that." 

So  then  Mr.  Twisleden  thought,  as  everybody  else, 
that  Mrs.  Betty  must  be  kept  out  of  possession. 
That  was  Alice's  secret  opinion,  but  she  did  not  avow 
it,  and  she  was  glad  that  Mr.  Twisleden  prevented 
the  necessity  of  her  so  doing. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  know  not  what  is  best 
to  be  done — I  shall  leave  all  to  vou.      Do  whatevet 


AND    WHAT    SHALL    BE    DONB    NOW?  121 

you  think  right— and  with  that  I  shall  be  quito 
Batisfietl,  even  if  it  be  to  resigning  in  favour  of  Mrs. 
Betty." 

"  We  must  keep  terms  with  Sir  Lynam,"  said 
Mr.  Twisleden,  "  or  we  cannot  be  sure  of  Metcalf." 

"  Would  not  Mrs.Betty  sell  her  right  in  Starkey  ?" 
suggested  Mrs.  Franklin,  startled  by  her  daughter 
speaking  even  of  resigning  in  her  favour,  and  not 
perceiving  the  ground  on  which  this  show  of  mag- 
nanimity was  built. 

"  We  will  leave  it  all  to  Mr.  Twisleden,"  said 
Alice,  satisfied  that  Mr.  Twisleden  understood  her. 

Plans  for  circumventing  Mrs.  Betty  and  her  right- 
ful claims  filled  the  heads,  not  only  of  Mr.  Twisle> 
den,  but  of  Alice  and  her  mother,  though  not  one  of 
all  the  three  spoke  out  plainly  to  the  other. 

Alice  slept  not  that  night.  It  was  the  first  sleep- 
less night  that  she  had  passed  at  Starkey  ;  for  though 
she  had  laid  long  awake  after  parting  with  Henry 
Maitland,  that  affair  gave  her  not  half  the  distress  of 
mind,  not  half  the  disturbance  of  spirit,  which  this 
did.  To  sink  again  into  the  poor  Alice  Franklin, 
with  only  a  reversionary  right  to  Starkey ;  to  have 
to  wait  and  wait  for  possession,  year  after  year,  till 
she  was  quite  old  perhaps — she  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  it. 

No  !  Mrs.  Betty  knew  nothing  of  her  rights  ;  be- 
sides, what  could  she  do  with  a  place  and  an  income 
like  that  of  Starkey?  It  was  absurd — it  was  ridiculous 
to  think  of  it !  No,  no,  Starkey  must  still  be  hers — 
and  if  the  lawyers  were  not  clever  enough  to  suggest 
some  plan  of  securing  possession  to  her,  she  must 
suggest  one  herself ! 

M 


122  A    CLOUD    BY    THE    FIRESIDE  ; 

It  was  a  night  of  sore  trial  and  temptation.  Alasl 
Alice  was  not  strong  enough  to  resist. 

"  No,"  said  she,  the  next  morning^  surveying  her 
beautiful  figure  in  the  glass  ;  "  mistress  of  Starkey  I 
am — and  mistress  of  Starkey  I  will  remain  !  '* 

Sir  Lynam  and  Mr.  Twisleden  came  that  morning 
together.  There  seemed  to  be  the  best  understanding 
in  the  world  between  them. 

Mr.  Twisleden  said  that  ]\Ir.  Metcalf's  silence 
was  sec\ired — Miss  Franklin  need  have  no  anxiety 
on  that  score  ;  neither  need  she  have  anxiety  on  any 
other — added  he,  with  an  expressive  glance. 

"  I  have  suggested  to  Mr.  Twisleden,"  began  Sir 
Lj'nam — 

"  Better  that  she  knows  nothing  of  it  at  present — " 
interrupted  Mr.  Twisleden  in  an  under  voice.  "  You 
will  put  yourself  in  our  hands?"  asked  he,  address- 
ing Alice  in  the  nwst  kindly  manner;  "  we  have  your 
full  permission  to  act  as  we  think  well." 

Sir  Lynam's  eye  was  fixed  on  Alice,  and  she  was 
mortified  that  spite  of  herself  she  quailed  before  it ; 
she  was  again  displeased  that  he  knew  so  much  ot 
her  affairs  :  she  felt  instantly  that  her  consent  to  this 
plan,  whatever  it  might  be,  Avould  put  her  in  his 
power  ;  and  her  pride  was  wounded. 

"  Give  me  till  this  time  to-morrow,  to  deliberate,** 
said  Alice. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  interposed  her  mother,  *'  I  'm 
«ui-e  Mr.  Twisleden  will  do  nothing  wrong ;  you  can 
portion  off  Mrs.  Betty  very  handsomely ;  a  day  is 
often  of  consequence  in  such  things." 

"  We  will  only  take  care  that  Starkey  is  secured 
to  you,"  said  Sir  Lynam. 


AND  WHAT  SHALL  BE  DONE  NOW 


?      J23 


"  We"  repeated  Alice,  with  offended  dignity,  and 
yet  not  loud  enough  for  Sir  Lynam  to  hear ;  and  then 
addressing  Mr.  Twisleden,  she  said,  "  I  will  leave  all 
my  affairs  in  your  hands,  my  dear  sir — I  am  sure 
you  will  not  compromise  my  honour;"  and  with  these 
words,  giving  her  hand  to  her  mother,  they  two 
went  out. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    WRONG    THING    DONE  ;     AND    AN    EFFORT    TO    SAVE 
ONE    WHO    WILL    NOT    BE    SAVED. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  this,  Alice  went  into  Mrs. 
Betty's  room.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  dis- 
possess the  old  gentlewoman  of  her  rights ;  Mr. 
Twisleden  knew  that — so  did  Metcalf  and  Sir  Lynam 
Thicknisse;  and  whilst  she  seemed  always  shy  of  the 
subject  with  any  of  them,  she  had  been  given  to  un- 
derstand that  all,  without  her  interference,  would  be 
managed  for  her. 

Into  the  exact  state  of  Alice's  mind  we  must  not 
too  narrowly  inquire.  She  had  taken  counsel  with 
herself,  and  had  discovered  that  she  could  much 
better  bear  the  reproaches  of  conscience  regarding 
wrong  done  to  Mrs.  Betty,  than  she  could  support 
the  humiliation  and,  as  she  thought,  the  disgrace  of 
giving  up  possession.  She  said  to  herself,  that  if 
Mrs.  Betty  knew  nothing  of  this  her  claim,  the 
withholding  her  rights  could  matter  nothing  to  her; 
and  that  after  all,  the  late  Lady  Thicknisse  was  most 


124  A    WRONG    THING    PONE,    ETC. 

to  blame,  for  she  knowingly  had  deprived  the  o?>i?. 
lady  of  her  legal  right— while  she  herself  had  merely, 
as  an  involuntary  agent,  taken  what  was  given  her. — 
She  said  to  herself,  furthermore,  that  she  had  passed 
the  Rubicon  in  committing  herself  wi'th  Sir  Lynam, 
and  that  done,  she  was  not  now  likely  to  turn  back. 

To  Mrs.  Betty,  therefore,  she  went  a  day  or  two 
after  the  misunderstanding  between  them,  intending 
to  charm  her  by  a  great  show  of  amiability  and  sweet- 
ness, even  supposing  that  she  persevered  in  her  dis- 
pleasure. 

Poor,  dear  Mrs,  Betty,  to  persevere  in  displeasure 
was  out  of  her  power ;  she  had,  as  we  have  said,  for- 
given Alice  because  of  her  own  temporary  wrath; 
and  had  not  Alice  come  to  her  with  smiles  of  con- 
ciliation, she  would  have  gone  to  her,  and  most 
likely  have  offered  up  her  two  beloved  rooms  as  a 
peace-offering. 

Never  till  then  had  Alice  so  much  laid  herself  out 
to  please,  and  never  till  then  had  seemed  to  care  at  all 
for  Mrs.  Betty ;  and  the  poor  old  gentlewoman's 
heart  warmed  to  her  far  more  than  if  she  had  no 
cause  of  displeasure  against  her.  Alice  talked  of  her 
uncle  Netley  and  of  Elizabeth  Durant  ;  of  the  life 
she  had  led  at  Richmond,  and  of  tlie  life  she  meant 
to  lead  here  when  Elizabeth,  early  in  the  spring, 
came  to  visit  her. 

Mrs.  Betty  in  the  midst  of  all  this  was  half  inclined 
to  say  a  kind  word  for  poor  Henry  Maitland ;  but  a 
message  from  Mr.  Twisleden,  requesting  five  minutes 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Betty  on  business  prevented 
it. 

••'  Do  not  go,   my  dear  Miss  Franklin,"  said  the 


A    WRONG    THING   DONE,    ETC.  125 

old  lady,  as  Alice  hastily  rose  to  leave  the  room, 
"  Mr.  Twisleden  has  no  business  with  me  that  need 
be  secret  from  you.  It  is  only  about  tlie  legacy,  I 
know  ;  he  sent  about  it  yesterday  ;  so  sit  down,  my 
dear  ! " 

Mr.  Twisleden,  Sir  Lynam  Thrcknisse,  and  a 
stranger  entered, 

"  iMy  friend,  Mr.  Metcalf,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden, 
presenting  him. 

Alice  was  astounded  as  well  as  Mrs.  Betty,  for  the 
visit  looked  formidable.  Alice's  colour  changed,  for 
she  guessed  the  object  of  this,  and  with  a  feeling 
akin  to  faiutncss  she  sank  into  a  large  chair  in  the 
duskiest  corner  of  the  room,  that  she  might  be  out  of 
sight  of  Sir  Lynam. 

Mr.  Twisleden  said,  in  the  most  business-like 
manner,  presenting  a  roll  of  bills  before  Mrs.  Betty, 
that  there  she  would  find  six  thousand  pounds,  the 
produce  of  certain  sales  which  had  been  effected  ac- 
cording to  the  will  of  her  late  sister-in-law,  which  it 
was  the  desire  of  Miss  Franklin  to  have  literally 
fulfilled. 

Mrs.  Betty  smiled  kindly  on  Alice,  Sir  Lynam 
smiled  too  ;  but  Alice  saw  neither  one  nor  the  other, 
for  she  sat  with  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  felt  for 
the  first  time  that  she  had  consented  to  a  villanoua 
action. 

The  gentlemen  assisted  the  old  lady,  who  never 
had  any  head  for  business,  to  count  up  the  money; 
and  then,  afraid  of  giving  trouble,  though  she  was  by 
no  means  at  all  sure  of  the  fact,  she  said,  ''  Oil  yes, 
it  is  right !    1  am  sure  it  is  right,  Mr.  Twisleden.   I 


126  A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    ETC. 

have  the  greatest    possible   dependence  on  you — 1 
would  take  your  word  like  gospel  in  any  case  !" 

A  lawyer  has  two  consciences ;  the  one  his  pro- 
fessional one;  the  other  belonging  to  himself  as  man. 
This  last  conscience,  in  j\Ir.  Twisledeu'scase,  gave  him 
an  uncomrbrtable  twinge  just  then  ;  but  then  hia 
professional  conscience  said,  "  All  the  better  for  us, 
my  dear  madam,  that  you  have  this  dependence  on 
me."  Mr.  Twisleden  made  no  audible  reply,  hov,*ever, 
to  Mrs,  Betty,  but  merely  bowed  and  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff. 

Sir  Lynam  stood  with  his  chin  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  and  his  eye  fixed  on  Alice. 

"  I  must  just  trouble  you  for  one  moment  longer," 
said  Mr.  Twisleden,  as  politely  as  possible  ;  "  as  one 
of  the  executors  of  the  late  Lady  Thicknisse,  we 
must  trouble  you  for  your  signature  of  a  receipt." 

"  A  receipt  in  full,"  said  Mr.  Metcalf,  stepping 
forward,  and  beginning  to  open  a  formidable -looking 
deed. 

"  Perhaps,  Metcalf,  you  will  just  run  it  over,  that 
Mrs.  Betty  may  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden. 

"  Oh,  there  does  not  need  that,"  said  the  confiding 
old  lady.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  all  right,  Mr.  Twisleden." 

"•'  As  a  mere  matter  of  form,"  said  Mr.  Metcalf; 
"  it  will  not  occupy  many  seconds ;"  and  so  saying, 
in  the  most  rapid  manner  possible,  he  began  to  read 
over  the  contents  of  half  a  skin  of  parchment. 

Alice  knew  the  nature  of  it,  and  she  felt  sick  as  it 
went  on  to  state,  in  the  fullest  manner  possible,  Mrs. 
Betty's  renunciation  of  all  right  and  title  to  Staikey, 
under  the  will  of  Sir  Timothy  Thicknisse 


A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    ETC.  12? 

*'  Gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  interrupting  Mr. 
Metcalf  in  the  midst  of  his  reading,  ••'  I  don't  under- 
stand a  word  of  what  is  being  read — not  one  single 
word  of  it  \" 

"  Nothing  but  a  mere  form — a  mere  form,  I  do 
assure  you,"  said  Mr.  Metcalf. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  sorely 
puzzled ;   "  it*s  all  right,  Mr.  Twisleden,  I  suppose." 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right,  my  dear  madam,"  said 
Mr.  Twisleden  ;  and  Mrs.  Betty  being  thus  pacified, 
Metcalf  read  on  more  thickly  and  more  rapidly  than 
ever,  and  Mrs.  Betty,  when  he  had  ended,  knew  not 
one  word  of  the  latter  part  of  the  deed. 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  looking  unusually 
pale,  "  is  merely  to  secure  the  estate  from  after  de- 
mands or  claims." 

"  A  mere  form,"  said  the  brother  lawyer,  smiling; 
"  the  law  makes  security  doubly  sure." 

"  ^Vell,  I'm  sure  I  know  no  more  about  what  I've 
heard  than  the  child  unborn,"  said  Mrs.  Betty,  taking 
the  pen  which  Mr.  Twisleden  presented  to  her  be- 
tween her  fingers.  "  Did  you  understand  it.  Miss 
Franklin  ?"  asked  she,  turning  to  Alice. 

"  It  is,  you  hear,  merely  a  form,"  said  Alice,  thus 
appealed  to  ;  and  Mr.  Twisleden,  anxious  to  spare 
her,  gently  took  hold  of  Mrs.  Betty's  hand  which 
held  the  pen.  "  Perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to 
put  your  signature  here,"  said  he  ;  "  Mr.  Metcalf — 
Sir  Lynam,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  witness  Mrs. 
Betty's  signature." 

Poor  Mrs.  Betty,  as  she  said,  knew  nothing  of  the 
nature  of  that  which  she  was  about  to  sign,  although 


128  A    WRONa   THING   DONE,    ETC. 

she  could  not  help  remarking,  "  I  should  hav« 
thought  a  plain,  simple  receipt  on  a  ten-shilling 
stamp,  or  Avhatever  the  sum  would  require,  would 
have  been  quite  enough — but,"  added  she,  "  lawyers 
know  what  they  are  about — so  much  money  for  so 
many  words — you'll  find  that  out,  Miss  Franklin, 
before  long  ;"  and  with^these  words,  which  the  dear 
old  lady  meant  for  a  little  joke,  she  signed  her  name 
before  witnesses,  and  therewith,  as  the  deed  specified, 
of  her  own  free  will  resigned  all  right  and  title  what- 
ever to  the  property  of  Starkey. 

"  L^t  me  congratulate  you  on  secure  possession, 
my  dear  Miss  Franklin,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  meet- 
ing Alice  an  hour  afterwards. 

Alice  did  not  choose  to  tell  Mr.  Twisleden  what 
her  own  conscience  had  said  to  her  on  the  subject 
within  the  last  hour  ;  and  leaving  him  therefore  with 
the  full  impression  that  she  was  highly  satisfied,  she 
went  to  dress  for  a  quiet  party  of  their  acquaintance, 
the  Byerlys  and  the  rest,  who  were  going  to  dine 
with  her  mother  and  herself  that  evening. 

Scarcely  anybody  that  was  with  them  that  evening 
was  as  well  pleased  with  Alice  as  formerly.  Every 
one  thought  her  engaged  to  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse, 
and  nobody  liked  him.  She  too  was  silent  and  ab- 
stracted, and  never  had  appeared  to  so  little  advan- 
tage before.  The  fact  was,  she  thought  very  little 
about  her  guests  ;  and  though  she  had  by  no  means 
lost  her  desire  to  dazzle  and  captivate,  she  had  net 
any  power  over  herself  that  night.  '''  It  is  weak," 
thought  she  to  herself  a  hundred  times  that  evening, 
"  to  think  so  much  of  this  affair — for  if  1  were  to  he 


A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    ETC.  129 

tried  a  thousand  times  I  should  still  do  as  I  have 
done,  and  with  all  these  people  here  wondering  at 
me — it  never  will  do  !" 

She  rallied  herself  for  two  minutes,  and  then  for 
the  next  ten  relapsed  into  dark  thoughts :  she  had 
consented  to  a  villanous  deed — she  had  put  herself 
into  the  power  of  Sir  Lynani  Thicknisse  !  A  bad 
conscience  is  a  most  troublesome  bosom  guest ;  it  will 
he  heard,  though  a  hundred  voices  be  raised  against  it. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Netley  arrived  at  Stark cy. 
There  was  a  great  show  of  welcome,  and  it  somewhat 
reconciled  Alice  to  herself  to  make  the  good  old  gen- 
tleman feel  what  joy  his  arrival  could  give. 

Well,  Starkey  was  a  fine  place,  and  Alice  was  very 
lovely,  though  looking,  as  he  thought,  somewhat  paler 
than  she  had  done  at  Richmond  ;  and  she  seemed  to 
become  her  station  admirably,  and  had,  moreover, 
received  him  with  such  overflowing  affection,  that, 
spite  of  all  her  fickleness  to  poor  Maitland,  he,  her 
old  loving  uncle,  could  not  help  feeling  proud  of  her, 
and  satisfied  with  her  too. 

His  old  servant  Jonathan  told  him  wonderful  tales 
of  the  ample  kitchens  and  offices,  butler's  rooms  and 
housekeeper's  rooms,  and  of  the  number  of  old, 
respectable  servants,  who,  having  all  just  received 
their  legacies,  were  in  high  good  humour,  and  had 
all  something  to  say  in  praise  of  their  young  mistress. 
Old  Mr.  Netley  was  no  more  than  mortal,  and  so 
dazzled  was  he  by  his  niece's  grandeur,  and  so  won 
by  her  show  of  kindness,  that  it  was  ten  days,  at  the 
very  least,  before  he  was  able  to  take  a  more  sober 
view  of  things.  By  degrees,  however,  after  the  first 
dazzling  vipw  wjis  taken,  he  bej^an  to  see  now  uua 


130  A    WRONG    TliiNG    DONE,    1.TC. 

little  thing  and  then  another  which  displeased  him 
Of  Sir  Lynam's  visits  he  had  heard  before  he  came, 
and  of  what  the  world  said  thereon — that  indeed  it 
was  which  sent  him  at  that  season  to  Starkey  at  all ; 
but  for  the  firSt  several  days  the  baronet  had  not  pre- 
sented himself;  now,  on  the  contrary,  he  came  almost 
every  day,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  understanding 
between  the  two  which  greatly  annoyed  him. 

Suspicion  once  roused  does  not  readily  sleep  again, 
and  Mr.  Netley  now  let  nothing  escape  him :  there 
was  a  peculiarity  about  Alice  in  her  intercourse  with 
Sir  Lynam  which  he  could  not  fathom  ;  she  was  both 
cold  and  confidential — there  was  an  anxiety  in  her 
manner  when  she  Avas  with  him,  and  an  uneasiness 
and  an  impatience  if  she  saw  him  in  company  with 
others :  she  very  rarely  spoke  of  him,  yet  he  had  seen 
her  turn  pale  before  him.  In  Sir  Lynam's  eye,  too, 
there  wjis  an  occasional  glance  as  of  triumph ;  he  ex- 
ercised a  sort  of  arbitrary  power  over  her  ;  he  would 
fling  a  look  at  her  in  her  proudest  and  haughtiest 
moments,  before  which  she  would  quail.  Mrs. 
Franklin,  too,  showed  him  the  most  extraordinary 
consideration:  with  her  it  was,  "  Sir  Lynam,  this; 
and  my  dear  Sir  Lynam,  that," — just  as  if  they  were 
the  oldest  and  ])est  friends  in  the  world,  or  as  if  she 
had  her  own  particular  reasons  for  paying  him  atten- 
tions. The  more  the  old  gentleman  looked  on,  the 
more  he  was  dissatisfied ;  he  remembered  all  the 
causes  of  complaint  he  ever  had  had  against  his  niece, 
more  especially  regarding  poor  Henry  Maitland  ;  and 
he  resolved  to  watch  her  more  narrowly.  He  did  so  ; 
and  what  between  his  own  observations,  and  his  sus- 
picions, he  began  to  find  that  Alice  was  by  no  means 


A    WHONG    THING    DONE,    ETC.  331 

what  she  had  been  ;  her  light-heartedness  was  gone  ; 
her  very  independence  of  action  was  gone.  It  was  no 
use  talking  to  her  mother ;  there  was  something  so 
specious  about  her  too,  he  could  not  make  the  same 
impression  upon  her  that  he  used  to  do. 

It  might  be  only  the  natural  influence  of  all  this 
wealth ;  but  someway  or  other  he  thought  there  was 
a  something  more  than  that,  could  he  but  penetrate 
it.  The  only  person  who  seemed  to  have  any  trans- 
parency of  character  about  her  was  Mrs.  Betty.  He 
very  soon  made,  therefore,  a  great  acquaintance  with 
her — or  rather  a  great  friendship,  and  referred  to  her 
to  have  all  his  perplexities  cleared  up. 

But  we  may  as  well  give  Mrs.  Betty's  letter  to 
Elizabeth  Durant,  written  about  a  fortnight  after 
jhis  time. 

"  Starkey,  January  24. 
"  My  dear  Elizabeth — I  am  just  got  up  from 
A  sick-bed,  where  I  have  been  confined  for  five  days, 
hut  more  from  sickness  of  mind  than  of  body.  Strange 
things  have  come  to  light,  and  others  equally  strange 
have  taken  place  here,  which  have  no  little  unsettled 
me,  and  of  which  what  the  end  may  be,  God  only 
knows. 

"  Mr.  Netley,  w^ho  seems  to  be  a  very  straight- 
forward, determined  sort  of  character,  took,  it  appears, 
an  early  opportunity  of  inquiring  from  Sir  Lynam 
rhicknisse  what  were  his  intentions  towards  Miss 
Franklin.  Sir  Lynam,  who  has  always  failed  in 
respect  to  the  old  gentleman,  replied  somewhat  offen- 
sively, though  without  demur,  that  it  was  marriage, 
referring  him  at  the  same  time  to  his  niece.  My 
surprise  was  not  less  than  his  when  he  informed  me 


1^  A    WRONG    THING   DONE,    ETO. 

that  Alice  herself  verified  this.  Sir  Lynam  had  been 
accepted  by  her  for  nearly  three  weeks. 

"  I  have  not  words  to  express  my  astonishment — 
notto  say  my  distress — so  beautiful  as  she  is,  sorich,and 
so  accomplished,  she  might  have  chosen  from  the  very 
best  in  the  land  ;  and  then  to  have  hurried  things  in 
such  a  disgraceful  manner,  scarcely  three  months  after 
her  predecessor's  death,  to  have  given  this  preference  to 
the  very  man  who  insulted,  as  it  were,  her  death-bed  ; 
scarcely  three  weeks,  too,  after  breaking  with  poor 
Mr.  Maitland,  and  while  she  hardly  knew  whether 
he  was  living  or  dead,  to  promise  herself  to  such 
a  reprol)ate  !  Heavens,  Elizabeth,  it  is  more  than  I 
can  understand  ! 

"  There  hud  been  some  little  disunion  between 
Miss  Franklin  and  myself,  but  that  was  all  passed ; 
a  better  understanding  seemed  to  be  growing  up  be- 
tween us ;  she  was  one  that  I  could  not  help  loving, 
spite  of  her  faults,  and  I  flattered  myself  that  I  might 
even  win  some  affection  from  her  in  return.  I  had 
made  my  will,  after  having  received  my  legacy,  and 
had  left  her  a  little  remembrance  in  it ;  for  though 
anything  I  could  leave  would  have  been  nothing  to 
her,  still  I  wished  to  show  her  a  mark  of  my  regard. 
I  know  not  exactly  how  it  was,  but  my  heart  seemed 
warming  to  her,  and  she  on  her  side,  had  behaved  of 
late  with  much  softness  and  kindness  to  me. 

"  I  could  not  help  shedding  tears  when  Mr.  Net- 
ley  told  me  the  avowal  she  had  made  to  him.  *  Poor 
thing  !'  said  I,  '  she  knows  not  this  man's  character; 
she  knows  not  her  own  worth,  and  how  she  might,  ii 
she  would  only  wait  awhile,  pick  and  choose  from 
the  very  best  families  in  the  county  !' 


A    WRONG    THING   DUNE,    ETC.  133 

"  Mr.  Netley,  as  I  said  this,  rung  the  bell  and 
ordered  her  to  be  sent  to  him,  in  my  room,  where  we 
were  sitting.  She  came,  which  was  more  than  I  ex- 
pectedj  and,  full  of  unspeakable  indignation,  he  began 
to  upbraid  and  scold  her.  That  was  not  by  any 
means  the  right  tone  to  use  with  her ;  a  proud  crim- 
Bon  rose  to  her  brow,  and  with  the  utmost  coolness 
she  told  him  that  she  was  her  own  'distress,  and 
meant,  in  her  own  time,  to  marry  P'l  Lynam. 

'•  '  I  will  present  myself  before  you  at  the  altar,' 
exclaimed  iVIr.  Netley,  almost  beside  himself  with 
passion,   '  and  forbid  such  an  unholy  wedlock  1 ' 

"  Alice's  figure  seemed  almost  Titanic,  as  she  rose 
up  and  with  a  look  of  concentiated  anger  declared, 
that  'neither  Heaven  nor  earth  should  prevent  it.' 

"  '  Oh  Alice,  dear  Alice  !'  I  cried,  with  tears  in 
my  eyes,  '  you  know  not  into  what  misery  you  are 
blindly  rushing !  You  know  not  the  character 
of  this  man !' 

"  My  words  seemed  to  have  an  immediate  effect 
on  her  passion.  '  It  is  my  fate  ! '  said  she,  in  a  milder 
voice,  and  reseated  herself. 

"  '  Alice,'  said  I,  taking  her  hand,  '  you  are  young, 
you  are  inexperienced ;  let  me  warn  you — let  me 
save  you  !  You  know  not  your  own  worth,  neither 
do  you  know  the  character  of  this  man.  You  will 
espouse  certain  misery  in  marrying  him  !' 

"  The  colour  had  died  from  her  cheek  as  I  spoke, 
and  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  *  You  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,'  said  I,  '  you 
know  not  Sir  Lynam  ;  you  gave  your  promise  to 
him  thoughtlessly ;  withdraw  it  without  a  moment's 
delay  ! ' 

K 


134  A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    ETC. 

**  '  I  cannot !  I  cannot ! '  said  she,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  '  You  broke  your  promise  of  years  to  one  of  the 
best  men  on  God's  earth,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Netley 
with  great  warmth,  '  and  one  who  loved  you  better 
than  life,  and  yet  you  cannot  break  it  to  this  profli- 
gate— to  this  lover  of  a  day  ? ' 

''  '  I  cann.  t ! '  repeated  she  again. 

"'And  why,  in  Heaven's  name?*  inquired  he, 
catching  violently  hold  of  her  arm. 

"  '  It  is  enough  for  me  that  I  know  I  cannot  !*  said 
she,  disengaging  herself,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of 
determination. 

"  '  God  in  Heaven  !'  exclaimed  he,  growing  more 
inflamed  by  her  coolness. 

"  '  Alice,  dearest  Alice,'  said  I,  '  give  me  a  rela- 
tion's privilege  over  you,  let  me  persuade  you  to  listen 
to  reason  and  experience.' 

"  '  No,  Mrs.  Betty,  no  I '  said  she,  putting  me  aside 
and  rising,  yet  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  which  she  en- 
deavoured to  conceal.  '  My  mother  is  satisfied,  so 
am  I  too  ;  what  needs  it  then  that  others  should  in- 
terfere ?  If  I  do  wrong  it  is  myself  alone  that  suf- 
fers ;  I  have  taken  a  step  which  I  cannot  recall,  and 
I  will  allow  no  one  to  interfere  with  my  actions  !  * 
and  with  these  words  she  left  us. 

"  The  old  gentleman's  anger  was  indescribable,  and 
I  was  more  hurt  than  I  can  tell.  I  really  am  become 
extremely  attached  to  her,  and  her  blindness  fills  my 
soul  with  compassion. 

"  '  It  is  infatuation  !  it  is  madness  ! '  said  Mr. 
Netley,  stamping  on  the  floor  with  rage.  '  This  in  • 
heritance  has  turned  her  head  ! ' 


A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    ETC.  135 

"  Jan.  27.  So  far,  my  dear  Elizabeth,  I  wrote 
three  days  ago.  I  now  take  up  my  pen  to  continue 
my  chronicle  of  events. 

"  The  scene  with  Miss  Franklin,  as  recorded  above, 
and  the  distress  and  anxiety  of  her  worthy  uncle,  quite 
overset  me,  and  I  have  had  again  one  of  my  fits  of 
nervous  head-ache,  which  has  left  me  vtry  much  of 
an  invalid.  I  needed,  however,  to  have  had  more 
than  my  usual  strength  for  that  which  awaited  me — 
hat  not  to  keep  you  in  impatience,  I  will  proceed  to 
tell  you  all. 

"  I  had  just  taken  my  coffee  in  bed,  yesterday 
morning,  when  the  card  of  a  Mr.  Bartholomew, 
Solicitor,  London,  was  brought  to  me ;  he  was  quite 
a  stranger  to  me,  and  refused  to  leave  any  message, 
begging  most  strenuously  to  see  me.  I  dressed 
hastily  and  went  to  him,  no  little  alarmed,  as  I  always 
am,  when  lawyers  come  on  sudden  business. 

"  Mr.  Bartholomew,  who  is  a  very  large,  imposing- 
looking  person,  entered  upon  his  business  without 
any  circumlocution.  The  information  he  had  to  give 
me,  would,  he  said,  he  doubted  not,  no  little  surprise 
me — as  you  may  believe  it  did,  when  he  informed 
me,  that  I — even  poor  I — the  insignificant  Mrs. 
Betty  Thicknisse,  was  the  rightful  possessor  of  Star- 
key  during  the  term  of  my  own  natural  life  ;  in  proof 
of  which  he  produced  a  copy  of  a  codicil  to  Sir 
Timothy's  will.  A  great  deal  he  said  about  the 
wrong  which  had  been  done  to  me  by  my  late  poor 
sister-in-law,  who  it  seems,  knowingly,  or  unknow- 
ingly, God  only  knows,  kept  me  out  of  my  own 
rights.  I  forgive  her,  and  if  she  wrongfully  possessed 
herself  of  what  was  mine,  may  God  as  freely  forgive 


136  A    WRONG   THING    DONE,    ETC. 

her  as  I  do.  I,  it  is  possible,  might  not  have  had  as 
easy  a  conscience  as  I  now  have,  if  all  this  power  and 
possession  had  been  mine.  There  is  deep  meaning  in 
those  words  of  our  Lord's  prayer,  '  Deliver  us  from 
temptation.' 

"  My  head,  at  no  time  very  clear,  was  in  no  con- 
dition to  understand  the  wordiness  of  this  Mr.  Bar- 
tholomew, so  I  sent  to  request  the  favour  of  Mr. 
Netley's  company  that  he  might  give  me  some  little 
advice,  for  I  take  him  to  be  a  sensible,  practical 
person. 

"  Mr.  Bartholomew  was  known  to  him  by  char- 
acter. The  merest  accident  in  the  world,  he  said, 
had  thrown  the  will  of  Sir  Timothy  Thicknisse  into 
his  hands.  He  was  down  at  Durham  on  some  law 
business,  and  had  occasion  to  search  some  papers  in 
the  Ecclesiastical  Court,  and  giving  the  man  a  less 
fee  than  he  expected,  was  remonstrated  with  thus: 
'  Gentlemen,'  said  he,  '  do  not  commonly  give  merely 
a  half-crown  ;  it  was  only  yesterday  that  I  received 
a  seven-shilling  piece  for  a  sight  of  old  Thicknisse's 
will.'  '  Ah  so  ! '  said  the  lawyer,  recalling  that  case 
of  singular  inheritance,  and  feeling  a  sudden  desire 
to  see  the  will  also,  '  I  too  will  give  you  seven  shil- 
lings for  a  sight  of  that  will.' 

"  '  I  saw  it,'  said  he,  '  and  was  instantly  struck 
with  the  unacknowledged  nature  of  the  codicil ; 
'  Who  was  the  gentleman,'  asked  he,  '  who  last  saw 
this  will  V  The  man  could  not  tell,  excepting  that 
he  believed  him  to  be  one  of  the  descendants  of  the 
testator — the  present  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse.' 

"  '  Thank  you.  Sir  !  thank  you,  my  dear  Sir ! 
exclaimed  Mr.  Netley  all  at  once,  as  if  he  were  out 


A    WRONG    THING    DONE,    KTC.  1G7 

of  his  senses ;  '  give  me  your  hand ;  you  have  sug- 
gested an  idea  to  me — you  have  done  me  the  greatest 
service  !' 

Neither  I  nor  Mr.  Bartholomew  could,  for  the 
life  of  us,  tell  what  the  old  gentleman  meant. 

"  '  My  dear  Sir?'  said  1. 

"  '  Yes,  yes,'  said  he,  '  We  will  go  to  law  on  this 
codicil.  Mr.  Bartholomew,  you  shall  undertake  the 
case.' 

"  Mr.  Bartholomew  looked  all  alive.  '  There  is 
the  best  ground  in  the  world,'  said  he,  '  on  which  to 
found  the  claim.  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse  has  the 
most  indisputable  title.' 

"  '  I  cannot — I  will  not,  disinherit  her  !'  said  I. 

"  '  You  both  can  and  shall  !*  exclaimed  Mr.  Net- 
ley.  '  She  shall  be  again  without  a  penny,  but  Id 
reversion.  You  may  live  twenty  years,  Mrs.  Betty, 
and  slie  shall  marry  poor  Henry  after  all.' 

•■'  I  began  to  see  what  his  intentions  were  ;  in  dis- 
possessing her  of  Starkey,  the  affair  with  Sir  Lynara 
would  be  at  an  end. 

"  '  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  about  it/  said  I, 
as  we  talked  it  over  again  when  Mr.  Bartholomew 
was  gone.  '  Sir  Lynam's  object  is  Starkey,  and  if 
my  putting  forth  my  claim  will  save  her  from  this 
marriage  I  will  do  it.  But  understand  Mr,  Netley,' 
said  I,  '  for  myself  I  covet  not  Starkey.  Two  rooms, 
peace  of  mind  and  rest  of  body,  love  to  my  fellow- 
creatures  and  duty  performed  before  Glod,  axe  all  1 
covet,  all  I  aspire  to  ! ' 

"  Oh,  my  dear  young  friend  !  you  know  not  what 
an  agitation  these  things  have  thrown  me  into.  My' 
heart  warms  to  Alice,  as  it  has  never  done  bi'tare  ;  1 
h2 


138  A    WRONG   THING   DONE,  ETC. 

feel  as  if  I  were  about  to  injure  her;  but  the  Al~ 
mighty  is  my  witness,  that  were  Starkey  my  own 
this  very  moment,  and  I  could  but  know  her  free  from 
Sir  Lynam,  I  would  resign  it  into  her  hands.  She 
is  far  fitter  for  the  mistress  of  this  noble  place  thau 
ail  old  woman  like  me. 

"  But  whatever  I  am,  my  dear  Elizabeth, 
"  I  am,  and  shall  ever  continue, 

"  Your  true  friend  and  well-wisher, 

"  Betty  Thicknisse." 


CHAPTER  X. 

PERSEVERANCE    AGAINST    HOPE. 

Mrs.  Betty  and  JMr.  Netley  had  a  long  con- 
sultation together,  in  which  they  arranged  their 
plan  of  action.  On  condition  of  Alice  giving  up  the 
acquaintance  with  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse,  and  bind- 
ing herself  not  to  marriage  with  him,  Mrs.  Betty 
should  voluntarily  resign  all  her  claim  to  Starkey ; 
but  if  Alice  remained  perverse,  that  the  old  lady's 
claims,  the  validity  of  which  admitted  of  no  doubt, 
should  be  strenuously  asserted ;  Alice  deprived  of 
possession ;  and  thus,  though  by  unpleasant  means, 
a  marriage  should  be  prevented  which  both  the  good 
old  people  were  convinced  ensured  only  misery  and 
degradation. 

Mrs.  Betty,  who  felt  herself  inadequate  to  opening, 
by  word  of  mouth,  this  business  to  Alice,  of  which 
she  supposed  her  to  be  in  ignorance,  although  there 


PERSEVERANCE  AGAIXST  HOPE.        130 

was  every  reason  to  suppose  Sir  Lynam  was  acquainted 
vi-ith  it,  wrote  her  a  note,  full  of  kindness  and  con- 
sideration, the  penning  of  which  cost  the  dear  old 
lady  many  tears,  and  with  which  she  inclosed  a 
copy  of  the  important  codicil,  begging  to  be  allowed 
an'  interview  with  her  at  her  earliest  convenience. 

Nothing,  as  may  be  expected,  could  exceed  the 
dismay  and  consternation  of  Alice  on  reading  this 
note,  and  her  suspicions  instantly  fell  on  Mr. 
Twisleden ;  she  believed  herself  to  have  been  be- 
trayed by  him.  Inevitable  disgrace  seemed  before 
her ;  and  slie  almost  cursed  herself  in  the  bitterness 
of  the  moment. 

"  Better,  ten  thousand  times,  to  have  thrown  myself 
on  the  generosity  of  Mrs.  Betty  !  Oh,  Heavens  !•  that 
I  had  done  so  at  once  ! "   said  she. 

It  was,  however,  the  fear  of  detection  and  disgrace 
which  wrung  these  bitter  words  from  her ;  and,  full 
of  unspeakable  resentment,  she  summoned  her  lawyer 
to  her  presence. 

Twisleden  received  all  her  reproaches  with  the 
indignation  of  an  innocent  man,  as  indeed  he  was, 
regarding  any  betrayal  of  her;  and  Alice  was  too 
deep- seeing  into  human*  nature  not  to  discover  that 
Twisleden  was  too  much  her  slave  to  have  played 
her  false.  She  gave  him  her  hand  ;  assured  him 
again  of  her  confidence  ;  besought  his  forgiveness 
of  her  suspicions ;  and  received  frona  him,  not  only 
assurances  of  undying  fidelity,  but  assurances,  also, 
that  after  the  deed  which  Mrs.  Betty  had  signed, 
elie,  herself,  was  unquestionably  secure  of  Starkey 
beyond  the  power  of  a  thousand  lawyers,  and  even 
that  if  the  old  ladv  were  determined  to  contest  it  with 


140  PERSEVERANCE    AGAINST    HOPE. 

>  her,  which  he  did  not  believe  she  ever  would,  the 
greatest  possible  care  should  be  taken  that  Alice,  her- 
self, was  in  no  way  compromised.  Mrs.  Betty  was  a 
weak-headed  person ;  all  the  world  knew  that ;  she  had 
signed  a  deed  one  day,  of  which  she  had  repented 
the  next ; — or  the  nature  of  which,  in  fact,  she 
appeared  quite  to  have  forgotten.  Nothing  in  tlie 
world  was  easier  than  to  deal  with  an  opponent 
of  Mrs.  Betty's  character. — What  he  now  counselled 
Alice  to  do,  was  to  treat  the  affair  cavalierly^ — to 
set  light  by  the  codicil,  and  defy  her,  if  she  liked,  to 
do  her  worst.  "  There  was  nothing,"  Mr.  Twisleden 
said,  "  like  carrying  things  with  a  high  hand." 

Greatly  assured  by  the  interview  with  Mr. 
Twisleden,  Alice  gave  permission  for  the  interview 
with  Mrs.  Betty. 

Both  ladies  looked  pale  and  agitated  when  they 
met.  Alice,  prouder  and  colder  than  ever,  as  if  she 
had  been  injured;  and  Mrs.  Betty  trembling  with 
emotion,  and  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  as  if  she  were 
weeping  over  the  pain  she  had  to  inflict. 

"  Dear  Miss  Franklin,"  began  the  old  lady,  after 
taking  the  seat  which  had  been  indicated  to  her,  and 
seeing  that  Alice  waited  fo^  her  to  begin  ;  "  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  tell  you  the  pain  which  this 
discovery  has  occasioned  me !  " 

"It  need  give  you  but  very  little,  Mrs.  Betty," 
said  Mrs.  Franklin,  who  knew  all,  and  was  seated 
by  her  daughter ;  "  resign  your  claims,  if  you  really 
have  any,  in  favour  of  Alice,  at  once." 

*'That  I  will  do,"  returned  Mrs.  Betty,  who 
found  it  much  easier  to  proceed  with  the  business 
when  she  saw  the  tone  thev  were  about  to  assume ; 


PPJRSEVKUANCE    AGAINST    HOPE.  141 

'*that  I  will  do  to  day,  nay  this  very  hour,  on  one 
simple  condition." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Alice,  feeling  instantly  a 
determination  to  exert  her  utmost  power  of  fascin- 
ation, "  you  will  ask  no  condition,  dear  Mrs.  Betty, 
which  I  will  not  willingly  grant ; — half  my  income 
— anything,  dear  Mrs.  Betty,  but  the  disgrace — 
or  rather,  I  should  say,  mortification  of  giving  up 
all.  1  am  sure  you  understand  my  feelings ; "  said 
Alice,  in  her  most  winning  tone,  and  looking  with 
infinite  affection  on  the  old  lady  ;  "  to  be  a  laughing- 
stock— a  country's  talk — oh,  Mrs.  Betty,  I'm  sure 
you  will  save  me  from  that  ?" 

"  I  will  save  you  from  that,  dearest  Miss  Franklin," 
said  Mrs.  Betty,  earnestly ;  "  and  I  will  save  you 
from  much  more  than  that,  from  humiliation  and 
misery ;  from  marriage  with  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse  !  " 

Alice  started, — clasped  her  hands  and  was  silent. 

"  Gracious  Heavens  1 "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Betty, 
"  what  fascination  is  this !  Sir  Lynam  the  spend- 
thrift, the  libertine,  the  hypocrite !  Alice,"  said 
she,  "you  have  not  known  him  for  years,  as  I 
have  done !  In  marrying  him,  you  unite  yourself 
to  misery !  Mrs.  Franklin,"  said  she,  addressing 
that  lady  ;  "  can  you,  her  mother,  calmly  see  this, 
and  not  interpose  to  save  her  ?  Ten  thousand  times 
better  would  it  be,  to  descend  to  poverty's  self,  even 
liad  she  been  ten  times  richer  than  the  possession 
of  Starkey  made  her,  than  marry  this  man !  You 
are  young,  Alice  ;  "  continued  she,  "  you  are  beau- 
tiful, you  are  made  to  win  all  hearts,  and  if  your 
mother  will  not  act  a  mother's  part  by  you,  to 
eave   you  from   worse   than   mere   poverty — I  will; 


142  PERSEVERANCE     AGAINSr    HOPE. 

and  not  a  mother's  part  only,  but  the  part  of  a 
stern  teacher — I  will  take  Starkey  from  you — and 
thank  God  that  I  have  the  power  of  doing  so — and 
then  see  if  Sir  Lynam  will  marry  you  !" 

Under  other  circumstances  Alice's  good  sense 
might  have  whispered  that  there  was  truth  in  Mrs. 
Betty's  words,  but  she  was  then  in  no  humour 
to .  make  acknowledgment  or  concession  even  to 
herself;  she  remembered  Mr.  Twisleden's  words, 
and  felt  angry  that  a  person  like  Mrs.  Betty^hould 
use  this  tone  of  assumption — as  she  chose  to  deem  it ; 
she  remembered  that  he  had  counselled  her  to  carry 
things  with  a  high  hand,  and  she  determined  to 
follow  his  advice. 

"  I  myself  will  break  with  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse^ 
if  I  see  fit,"  said  she,  *'  without  the  compulsion  or 
interference  of  any  one ;  and  as  to  Starkey,  if  you 
have  a  right  to  it,  Mrs.  Betty,  assert  it ;  you  will 
find  me  quite  ready  to  defend  my  claim.  Mr.  Twis- 
leden  himself  advises  me  to  give  up  merely  what  the 
law  demands." 

"  I  am  an  old  woman,"  returned  Mrs.  Betty, 
meekly ;  "  and  to  go  to  law,  and  to  get  into  notoriety 
of  any  kind,  would  be  most  unpleasant  to  me,  would, 
I  should  consider,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  be 
very  unseemly  and  disgraceful :  but,  Miss  Franklin, 
this  I  will  do ; — the  first  lawyers  in  the  kingdom  shall 
take  my  cause  in  hand ;  I  will  get  possession  hmn 
you,  and  not  one  sixpence  shall  reach  you  till  the 
Almighty  takes  me  hence,  and  in  his  sight  it  will  be 
a  righteous  deed !" 

Both  Alice  and  her  mother  seemed  speechless. 

"  Yes,  Alice,"  continued  Mrs.  Betty,  speaking  in  a 


PERSEVtUANCE  AGAINST  HOPE.        143 

voice  of  strong  emotion,  "  this  I  will  do,  ami  from  the 
warmest  affection  for  you  !  Heaven  knows  what  it 
is  from  which  I  would  defend  you  ;  from  tears  and 
heart-ache  on  earth,  and  it  may  be  from  endless 
misery  hereafter ;  for  what  may  not  a  tyrannical 
wicked  nature  like  him  tempt  you  to?  Oh,  Alice," 
said  the  poor  old  gentlewoman,  dropping  on  her  knee 
before  her  ;  "  give  me  your  word  before  witnesses  not 
to  marry  this  man,  and  I  will  sign  the  fullest  deed  of 
renunciation ;  and,  fondly  though  my  heart  clings  to 
this  place  as  my  home,  I  will  go  away  to-morrow^, 
and  never  trouble  you  more  !" 

"  Rise,  rise,  Mrs.  Betty,  rise  !"  said  Alice,  really 
moved,  spite  of  pride  and  every  other  bad  counsellor, 
by  the  disinterested  spirit  of  the  old  lady  ;  "  I  carmot 
bear  this  :  I  am  sure  you  mean  well  to  me.  Give 
me  till  to-morrow  to  consider!" 

Mrs.  Betty  rose,  and  kissing  Alice's  forehead,  left 
the  room  unable  to  say  another  word. 

Sir  Lynam  that  day  had  a  long  consultation  with 
the  two  lawyers,  Twisleden  and  Metcalf.  He  was 
the  accepted  lover  of  Alice  ;  he  was  privy  to  the  trick 
which  had  been  put  on  Mrs.  Betty,  and,  looking  on 
Starkey  as  his  own  already,  he  considered  himself 
entitled  to  take  part  in  every  movement. 

Sir  Lynam  all  this  time  seemed  the  most  gentle- 
manly of  men ;  and  but  that  Mr.  Twisleden  knew 
what  the  baronet's  character  was,  and  what  his  conduct 
had  hitherto  been,  he  might  have  considered  him  a 
very  pleasant,  although  certainly  not  a  very  high- 
principled  man. 

AH  was  satisfactorily  arranged  among  them.  The 
utmost  confidence  was  felt  on   their  [<art   rega»ding 


144  PERSElERANCE    AGAINST    HOPE. 

Alice's  claim.  The  first  lawyers  in  London  were  t^ 
be  consulted  and  employed  if  the  cause  came  to  trial  • 
their  opinion,  however,  was  that,  considering  th«. 
odium  of  an  old  person  like  Mrs.  Betty  advancing  her 
claim  in  opposition  to  one  with  so  many  recommen- 
dations as  Alice,  who  in  a  few  years,  sooner  or  later, 
must  come  into  possession,  she  would  before  long 
come  to  terms  with  them ;  sign  another  deed  of 
renunciation ;  and  thus,  aft  r  the  lawyers  had  all 
made  a  nice  thing  of  it  for  themselves,  there  would  be 
an  end  of  the  matter,  without  their  bjing  in  any  way 
committed.  All  the  odium  would  fall  on  Mrs.  Betty, 
and  the  young  heiress  would,  as  it  were,  only  have 
additional  claim  to  universal  favour. 

Poor  Mrs.  Betty  !  after  her  interview  with  Alice, 
she  had  a  terrible  fit  of  nervous  headache,  and  it 
required  all  Mr.  Netley's  determination,  and  strong- 
minded  clearness  of  purpose,  to  keep  her  in  harmony 
with  herself. 

*  "■  I'll  get  the  affair  fast  into  the  hands  of  the 
lawyers,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  so  that  she  can't  run 
off;  for,  spite  of  all  her  prejudice  against  Sir  Lynam, 
I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  Alice  may  not  over- 
persuade  her  ;  and,  as  I'm  a  living  man,  after  she  has 
broken  with  Maitland,  she  shall  not  marry  that  fellow 
if  human  power  can  prevent  it !" 

Mr.  Net  ley,  therefore,  engaged  Mr.  Bartholomew, 
who  was  a  lawyer  of  great  talent  and  reputation,  and 
determined  that,  if  on  the  morrow  Alice's  determina- 
tion was  to  abide  by  her  engagement  with  Sir  Lynam, 
that  he  would  return  immediately  to  London,  and,  as 
agent  for  M/s.  Betty,  lose  not  a  moment  in  prosecuting 
the  suit. 


PERSEVERANCE  AGAINST  HOPE.        145 

Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse  was  at  Starkey  that  evening', 
but  be  left  again  without  seeing  Alice  ;  she  refused  to 
see  him  on  the  plea  of  indisposition,  and  somewhat 
chagwned  he  rode  away  again,  after  exchanging  a 
few  commonplace  compliments  with  her  mother.  Not 
a  word  was  said  or  hinted  to  him  of  Mrs.  Betty's 
proposal. 

Alice  sat  alone  that  evening  in  communion  with 
herself;  she  passed  a  sleepless  night;  and  when  the 
next  morning  dawned  upon  her,  her  mind  was  as 
little  settled  as  it  had  heen  the  evening  before. 

"  1  wish,"  sighed  she  to  herself,  "  I  could  see  my 
way  clearly  and  definitely  before  me  ! " 

What  were,  in  fact,  Alice's  true  sentiments  it  is 
not  very  easy  to  say.  Love  for  Sir  Lynam  ?  No, 
certainly — not  at  least  such  love  as  that  which  young 
Maitland  had  cherished  for  her — it  was  a  vague  sort 
of  undefined,  uneasy  passion,  half  self-love,  which 
had  in  the  outset  desired  his  admiration,  and  coveted 
influence  over  him,  and  which,  now  that  it  had  been 
gratified,  she  could  easily  have  given  up  for  any  new 
object;  but  then  the  step  which  self-interest  had 
made  her  take  regarding  Mrs.  Betty,  and  which  had 
been  suggested,  and  urged  on,  and  brought  about  by  Sir 
Lynam,  had  placed  her  in  his  power — had  made  her 
fear  to  break  with  him.  A  secret  injurious  to  her 
honour  was  in  his  keeping.  Suppose  she  were  to 
embrace  Mrs.  Betty's  proposal — what  then  ?  She 
had  already  secured  her  own  firm  hold  on  Starkey  : 
Mrs.  Betty  might  threaten,  but  Alice  was  assured  by 
her  lawyers  that  she  had  put  all  power  out  of  her  own 
hands;  and  if  she  were  to  break  with  Sir  Lynam,  it 
would  be  only  unsealing  his  lips  to  trumpet  abroaJ 
o 


145        PERSEVERANCE  AGAINST  HOPE. 

her  own  disgrace,  for  she  could  well  believe  Sir  Lynam 
capable  of  taking  deep  revenge.  Poor  Alice  !  she 
flattered  herself,  as  many  a  woman  does,  to  the  rivet 
ing  of  her  own  misery,  that  she  should  retain  as  much 
influence  over  the  husband  as  she  had  had  over  the 
lover,  and  she  determined  to  risk  all. 

"  There  are  men  I  might  love  better  than  Sir 
Lynam,"  thought  she  to  herself,  "  but  I  cannot 
retract ;  I  am  too  deeply  committed  with  him  for 
that.  I  may  risk  something  in  marrying  him,  but 
1  am  eternally  d-isgraced  if  I  make  him  my  enemy !  " 

That  day,  therefore,  her  answer  went  to  Mrs 
Betty.  She  could  not  allow  herself  to  be  dictated  to, 
she  said,  "  although  she  gave  Mrs.  Betty  credit  for 
the  best  intentions  towards  her,  and  that  on  deliberate 
consideration  she  found  no  occasion  to  interrupt  the 
connexion  existing  between  herself  and  Sir  Lynam 
Thicknisse." 

It  may  naturally  be  asked — as  it  was,  and  that  in 
no  very  measured  terms  by  Mr.  Netley — Whatever 
Alice's  mother  was  about,  to  let  her  run  blindly  on 
her  ruin? 

"  Bless  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  she,  in  reply,  "  what 
can  I  do?  Alice  is  old  enough  to  judge  for  herself: 
she  has  always  shown  great  good  sense ;  and  if  I  wene 
to  turn  her  this  way  or  that  way,  how  can  I  be  sure 
that  it  would  be  for  the  best  ?  It  has  always  been 
my  opinion  that  parents  have  no  right  to  dictate  and 
control  in  cases  of  this  kind.  Our  children  marry  for 
themselves,  and  not  for  us;  and  I  have  this  confidence 
in  Alice,  that  she  will  do  nothing  without  sufficient 
reasons,  though  she  may  not  choose  always  to  commu- 
aiic&j-*  them." 


PERSEVKUANCE    AGAINST    HOPE.  147 

The  fact  was,  Mrs.  Franklin  sacrificed  her  own 
Judgment  to  her  daughter ;  to  use  a  common  phrase, 
her  head  was  turned  witli  her  prosperity ;  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  the  mistress  of  Starkey  could  do 
wrong.  She  had  been  weakly  silent  in  the  trick  upon 
Mrs.  Betty ;  and  having  been  silent  then,  she  felt  as 
if  she  had  not  any  right  to  speak  afterwards. 

Alice's  decision  made  an  iu'eparable  breach  between 
heTself  and  her  uncle ;  and  impatient  to  make  her 
feel  how  in  earnest  was  the  threat  of  dispossession, 
he  hurried  to  London,  with  full  authority  from  the 
almost  heart-broken  Mrs.  Betty  to  set  lawyers  at 
work  against  her. 

"  Let  nothing  of  all  this  alarm  you,"  my  dear 
Miss  Franklin,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  as  the  first 
letter  from  Mrs.  Betty's  lawyer  was  laid  before  her. 
"  You  are  as  safely  in  possession  as  if  the  old  lady 
had  been  dead  a  dozen  years." 

"We  must  have  the  park- wall  continued  round 
that  part  which  is  called  the  Pleasaunce,"  said  Sir 
Lynam,  as  he  drove  Alice  and  her  mother  out  one 
fine  morning  early  in  April,  for  he  began  even  to 
speak  of  everything  as  if  it  were  his  own.  "  1  will 
return  that  way  and  look  at  it ;  there  is  good  brick- 
clay  down  there,  and  we  will  burn  our  own  bricks." 

Alice  made  no  reply ;  indeed,  she  had  not  heard 
his  words.  She  had  been  thinking,  of  what  now  and 
then  would  come  across  her  thoughts  in  those  plea- 
sant spring  days,  that  Elizabeth  Durant  must  think 
her  unkind  never  to  write  to  her,  especially  as  she 
had  talked  so  much  of  her  visiting  Starkey  early  in 
the  year,     "  But  how  could  1   have  her  with  me  ?" 


148       PERSEVERANCE  AGAINST  HOPE. 

thought  she  again,  as  she  always  did  on  such  occa* 
Bions.  "It  is  quite  enough  that  Mrs.  Betty  and  I 
are  at  variance." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !"  said  her  mother  to  her,  "  have 
you  mentioned  to  Sir  Lynam  about  our  going  into 
Scotland  1 " 

*'  Not  before  grouse-shooting  ?  "  said  Sir  Lynam. 

"  As  soon  as  ever  the  weather  is  settled,'*  said 
Alice.  "  I  would  have  gone  to  London,  but  some- 
way just  at  present  I  cannot  bear  London ;  and  till 
this  atfair  is  settled  with  Mrs.  Betty,  it  is  unpleasant 
to  be  in  the  same  house  with  her," 

"  I  think  she  ought  to  have  withdrawn,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin  ;  "  two  people  in  one  house  who  are  at  law 
with  each  other.     It  is  quite  ridiculous  !" 

"  I  mean  to  take  a  house  in  Edinburgh,"  said 
Alice.  *'  I  have  a  great  desire  to  see  the  beautiful 
scenery  of  Scotland.  Oh,  it  will  be  so  quiet  there  !" 
said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh,  forgetting — poor  Alice  ! — 
that  where  the  mind  is  not  at  ease,  there  is  quiet 
nowhere. 

Sir  Lynam  turned  and  looked  at  her,  and  for  the 
first  time  was  struck  with  the  anxious  expression  ol 
her  countenance. 

"  Yes,  very  good,"  said  he,  thinking  of  the  High- 
land scheme,  "  and  I'll  come  up  for  grouse-shooting." 


A   BBOKEN    HEAST.  140 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A  BROKEN  HEART. 

Lawyers  are  not  remarkably  speedy  in  their 
movements,  for  a  reason  very  sufficient  to  themselves  ; 
that  a  long  job  pays  much  better  than  a  short  one. 

Mr.  Bartholomew  and  Philip  Dinant,  who  was 
the  counsel  chosen  for  Mrs.  Betty,  met  many  and 
many  a  time  to  talk  it  over,  and  to  deliberate  as  to 
what  was  next  to  be  done ;  seeing  that  Alice's  lawyers, 
from  whom  they  confidently  looked  for  offers  of 
compj-omise  and  conciliation,  stood  aloof  and  seemed 
as  if  they  made  sure  of  having  the  most  firm  ground 
of  right.  All  this  time  Alice's  lawyers  had,  on  their 
part,  made  themselves  quite  sure  that,  however 
determined  Mrs.  Betty,  urged  on  by  Mr.  Netley, 
might  be,  that  she  never  would  suffer  the  thing  to  come 
to  a  decision  by  law.  Month  after  month,  however, 
went  on ;  the  spring  came,  and  the  summer  and  the 
lawyers  of  Mrs.  Betty  made  not  only  no  step  to 
pacification,  but  gave  notice  for  the  cause  to  come  on 
in  autumn. 

Alice  and  her  mother,  meantime,  were  in  Scotland, 
whiling  away  the  pleasant  summer  months  among 
the  most  beautiful  Highland  scenes ;  Alice  finding 
wherever  she  went  admirers  and  friends,  and  creat- 
ing an  interest  for  herself,  not  only  as  the  so-much- 
talked-of  heiress  of  Starkey,  but  also  for  her  own 
personal  attractions. 

o2 


IfiO  A    BKO&KN    ilEART. 

"  Oh  !  how  heavenly  would  this  life  be,"  sighed 
•he,  "  if  I  could  only  forget  Starkey  !  " 

But  we  must  turn  back  from  summer  months 
and  Highland  scenes,  to  the  early  part  of  February, 
when  Nehemiah  Netlcy,  having  arrived  in  London 
full  of  grief  and  displeasure  against  his  niece,  went  to 
inquire  after  Henry  Maitland. 

"And  how  is  Henry  ?"  asked  he,  from  Maitland 
the  elder,  who,  with  a  sunny  tradesman's  smile  on  a 
sad  countenance,  was  bowing  two  titled  ladies  out  of 
his  shop. 

"He'll  never  be  himself  again,"  returned  he,  his 
countenance  growing  sadder  and  more  troubled ; 
"  never,  as  long  as  he  lives,  Mr.  Netley.  I  '11  tell 
you  what,"  continued  he,  growing  at  once  very  red, 
and  looking  very  positive,  "  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  promise  I  made  him  when  I  thought  he  lay 
on  his  death-bed,  if  it  had  been  my  last  shilling  I 
would  have  spent  it  in  havino;  revenge  ;  in  making 
her  one  way  or  other  repent  of  it !  " 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Netley,  "she's  laying 
up  repentance  for  herself,  as  fast  as  you  or  her  worst 
enemy  can  wish  it  !" 

*'  And  no  more  than  right,  Mr.  Netley  "  returned 
the  other ;  "  as  a  man  sows  so  shall  he  reap  ;  and  I  've 
no  reason,  not  I,  to  wish  any  good  to  her.  It  makes 
me  downriglit  angry,  to  see  what  a  wreck  she's 
made  of  my  poor  boy  ! "  and  spite  of  his  anger,  Mr. 
Maitland  wept ;  but  ashamed  of  the  emotion  which 
he  could  not  control,  walked  into  a  little  private 
room  behind  his  shop  and  fairly  sobbed  aloud ;  Mr. 
Netley  the  wliile  stood  midway  in  the  shop,  looking 
tolerably  unmoved,  but  experiencmg,   neverthelesa, 


A    BUOKEN    HEART.  151 

feelings  not  much  less  bitter  than  those  of  hia 
friend. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Maitland,"  said  he,  going 
into  the  little  private  room,  when  he  thought  tha 
fathcjr's  emotion  might  be  somewhat  abated,  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  I've  been  thinking  of;  there's  nothing  like 
change  for  a  mind  diseased.  It  will  never  do  to  let 
him  mope  at  home  over  his  troubles ;  we  must  do 
Bomething  to  amuse  him." 

The  two  old  gentlemen  sat  down  and  talked  it 
over.  Mr.  Netley,  always  active,  and  always  liking 
above  all  things  to  be  employed  for  somebody  or 
other,  proposed  to  take  charge  of  him  during  a  tour 
somewhere. 

The  Peace  of  Amiens  had  just  then  been  con- 
cluded, and  all  the  world  was  flocking  to  Paris, 
which  then,  when  the  Continent  was  so  little  known 
to  the  English,  offered  of  course  more  novelty  even 
than  now.  To  Paris,  therefore,  the  old  gentleman 
offered  to  conduct  his  young  friend,  and  to  Paris  they 
went. 

The  letters  which  he  and  his  companion  wrote 
were  cheerful  and  interesting,  and  the  happiest 
results  were  anticipated.  They  staid  for  a  month 
in  Paris,  and  then  Henry,  who  seemed  to  have  a  re- 
pugnance to  returning  to  England,  proposed  that  they 
should  venture  still  farther,  even  though  the  Con- 
tinent was  anything  but  in  a  settled  state.  Maitland, 
however,  spoke  French  admirably ;  and  by  steering 
their  way  through  those  states  of  Germany  which 
were  in  alliance  with  France,  they  penetrated  much 
farther  than  the  English  generally  did  in  those  days. 

They  were  soon  in  Saxon}^ ;  and  Mr.  Netley,  who 


152  A    BROKEN    HEART. 

had  always  had  a  great  interest  and  curiosity  about 
the  Moravian  settlements,  proposed  that  they  should 
visit  the  great  mother-colony  of  that  people  a* 
Herrnhut.  All  was  alike  to  Henry  Maitland  ;  and, 
somewhat  weaned  and  over-excited  by  travel,  and 
the  anxieties  of  travel  in  those  times  of  trouble  and 
ferment,  he  too  began  greatly  to  long  for  quiet. 
Chance  had  thrown  them  in  the  way  of  a  certain 
Graf  Sternberg,  who  was  nearly  connected  with  the 
family  of  the  Zinzendorfs;  and  furnished  by  him 
with  letters  to  the  principal  elders  of  the  community 
at  Herrnhut,  they  travelled  direct  thither. 

Like  a  peaceful  island  in  the  midst  of  stormy 
waters  lay  the  little  settlement  of  these  "  Watchers 
of  the  Lord,"  as  they  called  themselves,  in  the  midst 
of  war-shaken  Germany.  It  was  a  summer's  even- 
ing when  they  approached  the  place ;  cultivated 
fields  covered  the  hill-sides,  and  good  roads  cut 
through  trim  plantations — the  work  of  the  early 
settlers,  under  the  direction  of  Count  Zinzendorf, — 
gave  the  most  cheerful  character  to  its  locality. 
Presently  they  overtook  a  band  of  peasants  returning 
from  their  field-labour,  who  were  singing  a  hymn  of 
thanksgiving.  The  very  air  seemed  to  the  travellers 
apostolic  ;  and  as  they  drove  quietly  into  the  village 
itself,  the  clean,  cheerful  exterior  of  the  houses,  the 
breadth  of  the  well-paved  streets,  the  pleasant  gar- 
dens which  they  saw  here  and  there,  and  the  broad 
walks,  which  seemed  leading  into  pleasant  wilder- 
nesses, all  together  made  such  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  aspect  of  all  other  German  villages,  as  diffused  a 
gladness  over  their  spirits.  The  farther  they  ad- 
vanced the  more  they  were  favourably  impressed,  and 


A    BUOKEN    HEAKT.  153 

pleased  :  no  noisy  children  were  quarrelling  in  the 
streets ;  no  disgusting  figures  of  poverty  and  wretch- 
edness met  their  eye — they  saw  only  healthy- looking 
men  with  cheerful  yet  serene  countenances,  and  mild- 
looking  women  in  the  quiet  garb  of  the  sect,  all 
wearing  caps  of  the  most  snowy  linen,  tied  with 
ribbons  of  various  colours^  denoting  the  wearer  to  be 
maiden,  wife,  or  widow.  Music,  too — not  the  gay 
waltz  or  warlike  melody,  nor  even  those  stirring  na- 
tional airs  almost  universal  to  Germany,  but  music  of 
a  soft  devotional  character — was  heard  from  many  an 
open  window  which  they  passed,  or  from  gardens 
where  men  and  women,  and  little  children,  had 
assembled  for  wo^-ship  or  social  enjoyment. 

•■'  Thank  God  ! "  said  Henry  Maitland,  laying  his 
thin,  feverish  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  friend ;  "  we 
have  at  last  found  the  right  place — at  last  found  a 
haven  of  peace  !  Oh  !"  said  he,  as  if  his  soul  were 
at  that  moment  unlocked,  "  you  know  not  how  I 
long  for  rest — rest,  even  if  it  be  that  of  the  grave  ! " 

''  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Netley  kindly,  who  was 
accustomed  to  his  companion's  low  spirits,  "  this  is, 
indeed,  a  blessed  place,  and  we  will  stay  here  as  long 
as  you  please  ;  but  you  must  not  give  way  to  low 
spirits,  for  this  is  not  a  gloomy  place,  you  see." 

The  excitement  of  travelling  had  greatly  fatigued 
Henry,  and  the  quiet  of  Herrnhut  was  like  a  balm 
to  his  spirit.  They  took  lodgings  in  the  village,  and, 
presenting  their  letters  of  introduction,  were  received 
not  only  by  the  distinguished  persons  to  whom  they 
were  addressed,  but  by  the  whole  community,  as 
brethren.  It  was  a  remarkably  fine  summer,  and 
week  after  week  rolled  on,  if  not  to  the  strengthening 


154  A    BROKEN    HEART. 

of  Henry's  mind,  at  least  to  the  apparent  soothing  o' 
it.  One  ov  two  things, however,  occurred  to  excite  Mr 
Netley's  anxiety :  in  the  first  place,  whilst  his  com- 
panion's general  amiability  and  sweetness  of  manner, 
which  were  in  him  natural  characteristics,  seemed 
to  have  increased,  tliere  was  a  certain  wilfulness  at 
times  about  him  which  defied  the  old  gentleman's 
management.  Again,  whether  it  was  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  religious  atmosphere,  as  one  may  say, 
of  the  place,  or  the  mystical  books  which  since  he 
had  been  among  the  Herrnhuters  he  had  read,  oi 
whether  it  was  the  natural  effect  of  his  own  unhappy 
mind  preying  on  itself,  we  know  not,  but  there  seemed 
to  hang  over  him  a  dark  cloud — half  fanaticism  and 
half  melancholy — which  affected  his  whole  demean- 
our. He  professed  to  be  happy ;  he  fell  into  no 
religious  disputations,  but  lived  among  the  pious 
people  Avho  surrounded  him  in  the  interchange  of 
good  offices :  but  still  his  mind  lay  under  a  dark 
cloud  whicli  no  kindness  could  penetrate.  These 
things  made  Mr.  Netley  anxious ;  but  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  physical  health  was  much  improved; 
and  the  excursions  which  he  made  on  foot,  especially 
into  that  mountainous  district  on  the  north  of  the 
Elbe  called  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  and  which  was 
at  that  time  rarely  indeed  trod  by  the  foot  of  an 
Englishman,  proved  his  bodily  strength  to  be  much 
greater  than  it  had  been. 

Nothing,  therefore,  gave  Mr.  Netley  more  satisfac- 
tion than  that  his  young  friend  should  make  excursions 
of  this  kind,  particularly  in  company  with  the  intelli- 
gent and  excellent  young  men  of  the  community. 
Henry  Maitland  also   had  gone  to  Dresden  ;  gone 


A    BROKEN    HEART.  IM 

there  to  his  sorrow — but  why  so,  poor  youth  !  he 
never  told  to  his  friend. 

Dresden  in  those  days  was  not  what  is  now ;  but 
even  then  it  was  in  possession  of  its  noble  picture- 
gallery,  and  which  from  the  first  day  of  Henry's 
entering  it,  became  his  place  of  favourite  resort. 
Groups  of  gay  fluttering  people  were  not,  as  now, 
seen  circulating  through  it.  A  casual  traveller 
visited  it  now  and  then,  or  a  solitary  painter  sat 
undisturbedly  day  by  day  copying  his  favourite 
picture.  Here  too  came  Henry  Maitland  daily ; 
but  it  was  not  a  Rubens  that  brought  him  here,  nor 
a  Corregjjio,  nor  was  it  the  divine  beauty  of  the 
Sistine  Madonna :  the  picture  that  riveted  his  soul, 
and  before  which  he  stood  with  folded  arms  and 
abstracted  melancholy  gaze  hour  after  hour,  was  the 
St.  Cecilia  of  Carlo  Dolci. 

Unhappy  youth  1  There  wa«,  or  he  fancied  there 
was,  some  likeness  between  the  subject  of  this  picture 
and  Alice  Franklin;  and  thus  that  passion,  which  time 
and  absence  might  perhaps  altogether  have  conquered, 
woke  again  in  all  its  intensity,  and  many  a  time,  after 
standing  for  kours  before  this  picture,  he  would  rush 
from  the  gallery  with  feelings  akin  to  madness. 

All  this,  of  course,  he  told  to  no  one— least  of  all 
to  Mr.  Netley ;  and  when  the  old  gentleman  would 
propose  to  accompany  him  next  to  Dresden,  this  waa 
always  zealously  opposed,  and,  jealous  of  his  friend's 
even  suspecting  his  state  of  mind,  spite  of  his  haggard, 
melancholy  countenance,  he  assumed  a  cheei-fulness 
of  manner  which,  if  it  did  not  impose  upon  his  friend, 
at  least  pacified  him. 

It   was  now  the    beginning   of  August,  and    Mr. 


156  A    BROKEN'    HEART. 

Netley,  ■who,  however,  carefully  avoided  ever  speak 
ing  of  Mrs.  Betty's  lawsuit  before  his  companion, 
was  beginning  to  think  of  his  return  to  England  on 
its  account. 

They  were  sitting  together  one  evening,  as  they 
frequently  did,  in  the  lofty  Watch-house  occasionally 
used  for  worship,  and  which  overlooks  the  quiet 
burial-ground  of  the  Herrnhuters.  It  was  a  lovely 
scene  ;  the  harvesters  in  the  near  fields  were  singing 
as  they  cut  and  bound  up  the  corn — and  an  old 
white-headed  Hemhuter,  seated  on  the  tomb  of  old 
Count  Zinzendorf,  was  expounding  the  Scriptures  to 
a  group  of  little  children  that  had  gathered  round 
him.  It  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  scene ;  the  warm 
evening  light  shone  over  all,  like -an  emblem  of  the 
beauty  of  holiness ;  and  whilst  Nehemiah  Netley 
looked  down  from  the  Watch-tower  over  all,  tears 
filled  his  eyes.  "  Willingly,  most  willingly  would  I," 
said  he  to  his  young  friend,  "  end  my  days  here — lie 
down  and  sleep  with  the  good  people  who  slumber 
there,  and  rise  with  them  again  at  the  resurrection  ! " 

Maitland  sat  with  his  head  upon  his  hand — he 
made  no  immediate  reply,  but  a  sigh,  nay,  almost  a 
groan,  escaped  him.  "  There  is  a  new  cemetery  in 
Dresden,"  said  he  after  a  few  seconds,  "which  pleases 
me  more  even  than  tliis — and  if  I  die  soon,  let  me  be 
buried  there — promise  me,"  said  he,  almost  solemnly. 
"There  is  quietness  there  equal  to  this,  ampler  space, 
and  shrubs  and  flowers." 

"  Oh,  you  shall  not  die  out  of  England,  my  good 
fellow,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  interrupting  him, 
and  speaking  most  cheerfully ;  ''neither  you  nor  1 
will  die  out  of  England  !" 


A    BROKKN     IIEAUT.  157 

They  came  down  from  the  Watch-house,  and  left 
the  huiial- ground,  and  as  they  walked  homeward, 
Mr.  Netley  began  to  speak  of  their  return  to  England, 
which  he  wished  to  take  place  in  about  a  week.  It 
was  a  subject  Henry  entered  on  reluctantly,  and  now 
he  was  bent  upon  another  excursion  to  his  favourite 
scenes  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland ;  he  w'ould  set  off, 
he  said,  the  next  day.  His  friend  made  no  oppo- 
sition. Henry  had  hitherto  returned  from  such  an 
excursion  with  increased  vigour  both  of  mind  and 
body  ;  and  it  was  quickly  arranged  that  he  should  set 
out  next  day  with  his  knapsack  for  his  farewell  pe- 
destrian ramble,  and  in  the  mean  time  Mr.  Netley 
should  make  all  needful  preparations  for  their  Anal 
departure. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  he  at 
parting,  "and  may  God  bless  you  !"  added  he,  kissing 
his  cheek  ;  not  that  he  either  admired  or  had  adopted 
that  primitive  German  mode  of  leave-taking,  but  he 
loved  the  young  man  as  if  he  had  been  his  ovm  son. 

Poor  old  gentleman,  he  never  forgot  that  parting 
to  the  day  of  his  death  ! 

What  Maitland's  feelings  were  during  this  unhappy 
excursion,  none  but  the  Almighty  knows :  many 
things  afterwards  were  remembered  of  him  and  talked 
of.  His  road  lay  among  scattered  villages,  and  as 
travelling  in  thos6  days,  and  especially  in  those  parts, 
was  by  no  means  common,  everywhere  the  handsome 
young  foreigner  with  the  melancholy  countenance 
had  been  seen  ;  and  what  was  remarkable  is,  that 
every  anecdote  that  was  related  of  him  denoted  ami- 
ability of  character,  and  kindness  of  heart —which 
afterwards  hel])€d  no  little  to  console  his  old  frfend. 
p 


158  A    BROKEN    HEART. 

He  sat  and  talked  with  a  young  soldier,  who  was 
suffering  from  his  wounds,  by  his  mother's  door,  and 
even  helped,  in  the  absence  of  the  surgeon,  to  replace 
bandages  which  had  fallen  loose,  and  thus  contributed 
to  the  sufferer's  ease  ;  he  gave  money  to  a  peasant 
family  who  sat  weeping  amid  the  ruins  of  their 
house,  which  had  been  burned  down;  and  in  the  beau- 
tiful valley  which  lies  between  Schandau  and  the 
Kuhstal,  he  was  seen  directing  the  steps  of  a  blind 
man  who  had  no  one  to  guide  him. 

Thus,  for  several  days,  he  was  seen  by  one  and 
another — was  seen  too  in  the  various  points  of  attrac- 
tion in  this  lovely  region.  There  were  not  then,  as 
now,  guides  at  all  these  several  places  to  point  out 
this  and  that,  and  relate  the  old  and  interesting 
traditions  of  the  district :  all  at  that  time  was  wild 
and  solitary,  saving  for  the  native  dwellers  of  the  place. 
These  became  aware,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  that 
a  melancholy  stranger  was  among  them,  who  either 
sat  with  his  arms  folded,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
glorious  scenes  around  him,  yet  with  an  abstraction  of 
demeanour  that  showed  his  mind  to  be  far  away,  or 
else  he  was  seen  hurrying  along  from  place  to  place, 
as  if  in  eager  quest  of  somewhat.  Kindly  peasant 
women  told  how  they  had  offered  him  a  draught  of 
milk  and  a  slice  of  bread,  as  at  other  times  he  had 
been  seen  slowly  passing  by,  as  if  worn-out  with 
fatigue  ;  and  told,  too,  how  at  their  addressing  him 
he  had  seemed  like  one  suddenly  woke  from  a  dream, 
taken  the  refreshment  they  offered,  smiled  sadly,  and 
then  hurried  onward. 

Some  thought  him  feeble  from  sickness;  some 
thought  him  insane  ;  but  all  agreed  that  he  was  im- 


A    BROKEN    HEART.  159 

]iappy :  and  the  experience  of  sorrow  is  so  universal, 
that  though  he  opened  his  heart  to  no  one,  he  found 
everywhere  sympathy  and  kindness. 

How  his  mind,  however,  worked  all  this  time,  or 
preyi'd  upon  itself,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Solitary 
communion  with  nature,  while  it  heals  some  wounded 
hearts,  only  aggravates  the  suffering  of  others  : — it 
was  so,  we  must  suppose,  in  poor  Henry  Maitland's 
case. 

One  early  morning,  while  all  nature  was  calm  and 
beautiful,  dew  on  the  grass,  flowers  on  the  earth,  and 
joyous  birds  in  the  trees  above,  a  peasant  woman  and 
her  boy,  passing  through  the  woods  at  the  foot 
of  the  great  \V'interberg,  beheld  the  saddest  spectacle 
which  mortal  eye  can  see — a  lifeless  human  form — 
youthful,  but  dead, — lying  among  the  grass  and 
flowers. 

"  Dear  Lord ! "  said  the  boy,  "  it  is  the  good 
gentleman  who,  only  yesterday,  gave  money  to  poor 
Fritz !  " 

The  woman  raised  the  head ;  but  though  she,  too, 
had  recognised  the  dress,  she  could  not  see  the 
features  for  the  tears  which  blinded  her  eyes. 

We  cannot,  if  we  would,  describe  the  agony  of 
poor  old  Mr.  Netley,  when,  instead  of  the  return  of 
Maitland  which  he  expected,  he  was  summoned, 
by  the  police  regulations,  to  attend  to  the  melancholy 
event  which  we  have  just  recorded.  Poor  Maitland 
had  died  by  his  own  hand,  for  the  pistol  which  had 
effected  his  death  was  still  clenched  in  his  hand. 

Good  old  Mr.  Netley ;  of  all  the  troubles  which 
his  life  had  ever  experienced,  this  was  unquestionably 
a  thousandfold  the  saddest !     He  felt  almost  unable 


160  A   BROKEN    HEART. 

to  communicate  it  to  Maitland's  family  ;  the  youth 
had  been  entrusted  to  his  care,  and  this  was  the  end 
of  it. 

But  we  cannot  pretend  to  write  of  his  distress ;  we 
will  only  tell  that  neither  his  prayers  nor  his  tears 
could  obtain  that  a  German  law  should  be  relaxed  in 
his  case.  Henry  was  adjudged  to  have  died  by 
his  own  hand,  and  could  not  be  buried  in  holy 
ground,  for  the  good  man  had  had  the  body  re- 
moved to  Dresden,  and  fondly  had  desired  to  fulfil 
his  unfortunate  friend's  melancholy  wish  to  be  buried 
in  tlie  new  cemetery  there.  To  Herrnhut,  therefore, 
he  returned — what  a  melanchol}',  heart-breaking 
return  ! — and  amid  the  tears  of  the  good  people, 
who  had  loved  the  unhappy  youth  as  a  son  and 
a  brother,  he  was  laid  among  their  dead,  in  their 
"  Gottes  Acker, "  or  field  of  God. 

All  affairs  in  England  had  now  lost  their  interest 
for  him  ;  he  cared  neither  for  his  niece  nor  for 
dear  Mrs.  Betty  and  her  lawsuit,  and  gladly  would 
he  have  ended  his  days  among  this  quiet,  unworldly 
community,  and  slept  at  last  beside  his  unhappy 
friend, — but  it  could  not  be.  Fearful  rumours  of 
war  came  from  far;  terror  and  gloom  sat  on  the 
countenances  of  all  men ;  and  late  in  the  year, 
after  shedding  plenteous  tears  over  the  grave  of  his 
poor  friend,  he  returned,  without  any  announcement 
to  any  of  his  friends,  not  even  Maitland's  family, 
to  his  house  in  Richmond,  where  he  shut  himself 
up  as  a  recluse. 


A   KIND    HEART    WOLNDED-    ETC. 


161 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    KIND    HEART    WOUNDED  ;      AND    A    WEDDING    TUA  t 
LOOKS    GAY. 

The  summer  wore  on,  and  both  parties  of  dis- 
putants respecting  Starkey  said  that  the  affair 
would  be  settled  by  trial  in  the  autumn.  As  the 
autumn  approached,  however,  Alice's  lawyers  began 
to  feel  a  little  uneasiness,  because  Mrs.  Betty's 
lawyers  remained  so  calm  and  confident ;  and  Alice 
herself,  who  had  grown  morbidly  sensitive  on  the 
subject,  began  to  console  herself  with  the  hope 
that  even  if,  at  last,  her  own  lawyers  were  obliged 
to  confess  the  act  of  treachery  to  which  slie  had 
consented,  both  Mrs.  Betty  and  her  uncle,  however 
much  aggrieved  and  displeased  they  might  be,  would 
still  spare  her  character,  by  never  permitting  it 
to  be  made  public. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  summer  Mrs.  Betty  wrote 
thus  to  Elizabeth  Durant  : — 

"  I  live  here  as  solitarily  as  if  I  were  the  dweller  in 
an  enchanted  castle ;  my  neighbours  however,  the 
Byerlys,  and  other  good  families  of  my  acquaintance, 
show  me  much  attention,  and  would  have  shown 
me  more,  had  I  not  been  too  much  out  of  spirits 
to  see  company. 

"  This  hateful  lawsuit  has,  of   course,   occasioned 

much  talk ;   but  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  that  no  one, 

not   even    poor   Miss    Franklin's   greatest   admirers, 

blame    the    part    I    have   taken.     She  ha-s   lo?t  her 

I'  2 


102  A    KIND    HEART    WOUNDBD ; 

popularity  here,  through  her  connexion  with  Sir 
Lynam,  which  is  the  most  singular  instance  of 
infatuation  that  ever  was  known.  Handsome  he 
unquestionably  is,  and  he  has  conducted  himself 
decently  of  late ;  but  then  his  character,  his  former 
life,  his  want  of  principle,  prevent  people  having 
any  reliance  on  him.  I  will  be  bourtd  to  say 
that  she  never  heard  a  noble  sentiment  proceed 
from  his  lips — nobility  of  sentiment  is  not  in  him  ; 
but  he  has  an  off-hand,  dashing  sort  of  manner, 
that  I  suppose  has  taken  lier  fancy.  Poor  Alice  ! 
Nothing,  as  Mrs.  Byerly  says,  will  bring  her  to 
her  senses  but  the  loss  of  Starkey  ;  for  then  some- 
thing of  his  true  character  will  reveal  itself.  It 
is  Starkey  that  he  wants,  and  not  Alice  !  The 
Byerlys,  I  take  it,  have  been  much  disappointed, 
on  account  of  their  eldest  son  not  succeeding  with 
her.  He  was  a  fine  young  man,  and  is  now  just 
about  going  to  the  West  Indies  for  a  couple  of 
years. — There  would  have  been  some  chance  of 
happiness  and  respectability  there. 

*'  I  hear  from  the  Maberlys,  who  are  just  returned 
from  Scotland,  that  Sir  Lynam  is  gone  there  for  the 
grouse-shooting.  Alice  and  her  mother  have  had,  for 
the  summer,  a  fine  place  somewhere  near  Perth ;  they 
lived  there  quietly,  I  am  told,  and  somebody  who 
saw  Alice  said  how  pale  she  is  looking.  She  is  not 
happy,  poor  thing  !  When  this  affair  is  settled,  and 
she  has  done  with  Sir  Lynam,  as  she  will  the  moment 
I  get  my  claim  established,  I  shall  give  all  up  to 
her,  tying  her,  of  course,  off  n>arrying  Sir  Lynam. 
I  have  consulted  with  my  lawyer  on  the  subject,  and 
have  already  had  a  draft  of  the  necessary  deed  drawn 


AND    A    WEDDING    THAT    LOOKS  GAY.  103 

op  ;  for  I  don't  want  Starkey,  or  any  advantage 
whatever,  for  myself.  I  should  be  ashamed  of  seeing 
myself  in  possession  of  this  place,  to  her  exclusion. 
She  interests  me  greatly,  and  with  all  her  faults,  I 
have  conceived  an  affection  for  her,  and  would,  if 
possible,  excite  the  same  sentiment  in  her  towards 
me.  If  we  once  get  the  s-pell  of  this  unhappy  con- 
nexion with  Sir  Lynam  broken,  all  will  be  so  dif- 
ferent !  Her  natural  good  sense  will  soon  show  her 
how  much  her  friend  I  have  been.  She  will  then 
soon  connect  herself  worthily,  for  there  is  not  a 
family  in  the  county  that  would  not  be  proud  of  an 
alliance  with  her.  Poor  thing  !  I  hear  that  she 
speaks  with  severity  of  me ;  perhaps  that  is  no  more 
than  natural.  I  can  bear  it  for  the  present — in  pro- 
cess of  time  she  will  know  me  belter,  and,  I  trust, 
love  me  too. 

""'  1  am  impatient  for  Mr.  Netley's  return.  He 
wrote  me  about  ten  days  ago  that  he  meant  to  be  back 
for  the  trial.  He  is  an  excellent,  strong-minded  man, 
and  without  him  I  never  should  have  had  strength  to 
have  undertaken  what  is  now  in  hand." 

Towards  the  end  of  August  she  wrote  again  thus: — 

"•  The  time  for  terminating  this  terrible  law-busi- 
ness approaches.  Alice  and  her  mother  have  left 
Scotland,  and  are  now  located  on  the  banks  of  Win- 
dermere. The  Byerlys,  too,  are  in  the  lake-country 
for  the  autumn.  Mrs.  Byerly  has  been  so  good  as  to 
write  to  me  :  she  is  shocked,  she  gays,  with  poor 
Alice's  appearance,  she  is  so  thin  and  pale.  You  do 
not  know  how  this  has  affected  me. 

"  Sir  Lynam  has  bten  here  ;  he  brought  workmen 
to  make  alterations  in  the  grounds.     It  was,  he  said, 


164  A    KIND    HEART    W0UNI>ED; 

by  Miss  Franklin's  orders,  but  that  I  did  not  believe, 
1  was  extremely  incensed,  and  ordered  both  him  and 
his  men  off  the  place.  I  did  not  think  I  could  have 
done  so,  having  no  one  but  the  servants  to  stand  by 
me.  Twisleden  is  in  London,  and  even  had  he  been 
here,  I  question  how  he  would  have  acted — he  seems 
not  to  be  the  man  he  was  in  my  poor  sister-in-law'a 
days  ;  he  is  no  friend  of  mine,  that  is  the  fact,  and, 
as  is  but  natural,  I  have  lost  all  dependence  on  him. 
Well,  I  discharged  Sir  Lynam  and  his  people,  for- 
bidding them  again  to  set  foot  within  the  premises. 
Sir  Lynam  merely  smiled  and  bowed,  and  turning  to 
his  workmen,  said,  '  A  few  weeks  would  m.ake  but 
very  little  difference ;  Miss  Franklin  would  be  here 
herself  in  that  time,'  he  said,  '  and  would  give  her 
own  orders.'  So  all  went  away.  Mr.  Twisleden,  too, 
had  ordered  a  brick-field  to  be  opened  at  the  lower 
part  of  the  park  ;  that  too  is  now  stopped.  They  are 
beginning,  1  imagine,  to  have  some  little  apprehen 
sion  about  their  rights. 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  all  the  old  servants 
behave  most  kindly  and  faithfully  to  me.  All  have 
received  their  legacies,  and  most  of  them  are  thus 
comfoi'tably  provided  for  life.  All,  however,  have 
volunteered  to  remain  with  me  when  my  rights 
here  are  established.  If  Sir  Lynam  comes  here  as 
master,  all  will  leave  ;  this,  Mrs.  Wardle,  who  has 
taken  upon  herself  the  office  of  my  woman — Lord  ! 
to  think  of  me  having  a  woman,  who,  for  nearly  sixty 
years,  have  done  all  for  myself ;  but  so  it  is ;  and  it 
is  quite  as  well,  for  Miss  Franklin  thought  her  too 
old-fashioned  for  her  maid — she  tells  me  that  this 
was  respectfully  intimated  to  Miss  Franklin  before  she 


AND    A    WEDDING     THAT    LOOKS    GAY.  1C5 

left.  Poor  deluded  creature!  when  even  servants 
have  done  thus,  has  she  not  had  enough  to  excite 
suspicion  ?" 

^\^hilst  Mrs.  Betty  had  the  pen  in  hand  which  wrote 
these  words,  a  letter  came  by  post  from  Elizabeth 
Durant,  containing  an  account  of  the  melancholy 
event  recorded  in  our  last  chapter.  The  old  lady 
'v\Tote  no  more  that  day,  nor,  indeed,  for  many  days ; 
her  feelings  were  akin  to  those  of  poor  Mr.  Netley; 
she  cared  neither  for  herself  nor  her  law -suit.  What 
were  any  troubles  of  hers  in  comparison  to  those  of 
her  friend  Netley  —  to  those  of  poor  Maitland's 
family?  And  then  the  unfortunate  youth  himself 
— what  had  he  not  borne,  when  grief  at  last  had 
brought  on  madness  and  suicide  !  * 

Hearts  bleed  and  break,  and  all  that  while  the 
busines=i  of  life  goes  on ;  people  eat,  drink,  sleep, 
quarrel,  become  reconciled,  or  go  to  law  to  make  the 
quarrel  worse,  and  never  think  all  the  while  of  what 
others  are  enduring.  So  it  was  now ;  while  all  this 
master-sorrow  was  preparing  which  was  to  affect 
more  or  less  both  contending  parties,  they  were  busied 
about  their  own  concerns,  thinking  them  of  interest 
beyond  any  other. 

The  time  which  was  to  terminate  the  law-suit  was 
at  hand,  and  Alice's  lawyers  began  to  be  almost  des- 
perate under  the  continued  silence  of  their  antagonists, 
who,  as  they  learned,  were  in  full  preparations  for  the 
most  determined  maintenance  of  their  claim.  A  third 
party  then,  prompted  by  Alice's  agents,  spoke  ol 
compromise  :  but  no!  Mrs.  Betty's  lawyers  would  not 
compromise  one  tittle  excepting  on  the  already  pro- 
posed terms,  whicli  were  rejected  for  Alice. 


166  A    KIND     HEART    vr-)L"M) KI)  ; 

Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse  was  in  London ;  in  threa 
days  the  trial  came  on ;  and  Mis.  Betty's  lawyers, 
well  pleased  with  the  evident  anxiety  of  the  adversa- 
ries, smiled  in  security. 

"  It  never  will  come  into  court,  however,"  said 
Philip  Durant  to  Mr.  Bartholomew,  the  very  day 
before  that  fixed  for  the  trial ;  "  jNIiss  Franklin  will 
drop  Sir  Lynam  rather  than  lose  Starkey :  we  shall 
hear  from  them  to-day." 

Scarcely  were  these  words  out  of  his  mouth  when 
Metcalf  and  Twisleden  were  announced.  Philip 
Durant  and  his  fellow-lawyer  exchanged  looks  of 
triumph.  The  two  lawyers,  however,  came  with  no 
offers  of  compromise  ;  but,  as  they  said,  by  the  desire 
of  Sir  Lynam  Thicknisse,  who  had  full  permission 
from  Miss  Franklin  to  direct  her  affairs,  they  came  to 
throw  a  new  light  on  the  whole  affair ;  to  lay  before 
them  "  Mrs.  Betty's  deed  of  relinquishment  to  all  and 
every  of  her  claims  on  Starkey,  under  the  codicil  to 
the  will  of  Sir  Timothy  Thicknisse." 

"  There  is  some  collusion  here !  The  thing  la 
morally  impossible  \"  exclaimed  both  Philip  Durant 
and  Mr.  Bartholomew,  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Philip  Durant,  fixing  a  keen, 
penetrating  glance  on  both  lawyers  ;  '''  this  deed  has 
been  obtained  by  no  fair  means  !" 

''  Make  your  best  of  it,**  said  Metcalf,  with  a  smile 
of  successful  craft ;  "  we  will  leave  a  copy  of  it  with 
you." 

"  Of  course,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Twisleden,  "  you 
will  not  take  this  cause  into  court  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  said  Philip  Durant,  '*  but 
early  in  the  next  term ;  for,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  1 


AN'D    A    WEDDING    THAT    LOOKS   GAY 


1«7 


Tfill  plainly  and  fearlessly  say,  whoever  may  have 
been  the  agent  in  this  affair  he  is  " — a  villain,  Philip 
was  going  to  say,  but  he  merely  added,  "  the  lavs 
will  not  support  him  in  it." 

"  This  very  hour,"  said  Philip  Durant  to  his  dis- 
concerted companion,  when  they  were  again  alone, 
"  T  will  set  off  to  Starkey.  This  deed  has  never  been 
obtained  by  fair  means ;  it  will  postpone  the  suit,  but 
it  will  not  be  lost  through  it.  It  bears  date  but  a 
few  days  before  we  received  our  instructions  ;  they 
never  will  suffer  this  deed  to  come  into  court.  " 

Mr.  Bartholomew  saw  a  long  perspective  of  fees 
before  him  in  this  prolonged  cause,  and  it  is  hard  to 
say  whether  he  was  not  better  pleased  that  new  dif- 
ficulties had  sprung  up  to  prevent  the  speedy  termina- 
tion of  so  rich  a  cause. 

Philip  Durant  knew  nothing  of  the  suicide  of 
poor  Maitland  :  the  news  had  onl}'  just  then  reached 
England  in  the  newspapers,  which  as  yet  had,  out  of 
respect  to  private  feeling,  withheld  the  name ;  the 
letter,  however,  from  Elizabeth  Durant,  bearing  the 
tidings  to  Mrs.  Betty,  had  reached  her  but  a  few 
hours  before  the  sudden  arrival  of  her  London  bar- 
rister was  announced. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Philip,"  said  she,  *'  I  am  in  no  state  to 
enter  on  business,  let  it  be  as  urgent  as  it  may.  The 
lawsuit  is  ended  either  for  or  against  me — that  is 
what  you  have  to»say — but  after  this  sad  news  which 
I  have  just  told  you,  it  is  strange  how  indifferent  I 
am  about  the  whole  thing." 

Philip,  however,  as  a  lawyer,  looked  upon  the 
object  of  his  mission  as  of  really  more  importance  to 
Mrs.  Betty  than  even  the  awful  death  of  poor  Mail- 


168  A    KIND    HEART    WOUNDED; 

land,  which  nevertheless  had  affected  him  greatly, 
and  at  length  he  induced  her  to  listen  to  what  he  had 
to  communicate. 

Philip  laid  the  copy  of  the  deed,  bearing  date  the 
10th  of  January  last,  before  her,  and  explained  its 
nature.  "■  Had  you  knowledge  of  such  a  deed  as 
this?"  asked  he. 

"  I  knew  not  at  that  time,"  said  she,  "  that  I  had 
Buch  right  and  title  to  Starkey  !  About  that  time  it 
was  that  I  gave  a  receipt,  a  receipt  in  full,  as  I  was 
told,  for  six  thousand  pounds  of  legacy  under  the  will 
of  my  late  sister-in-law." 

"  The  same,"  returned  Philip  Durant :  "  it  is  in- 
cluded in  this  deed." 

"  O  my  dear  sir !"  said  poor  Betty  in  a  voice  of 
extreme  distress  of  mind,  after  she  had  communicated 
to  him  all  the  particulars  of  the  signing  of  that  deed  ; 
"  there's  an  end  of  it,  let  the  thing  drop.  This  is 
the  saddest  part  of  *the  whole  affair ;  let  her  marry 
him,  for  she  has  deceived  me  cruelly,  and  one  who 
could  be  part}'  to  a  deceit  like  this  is  a  fit  wife  for 
Sir  Lvnam  Thicknisse.  I  have  lost  my  interest  now 
in  trying  to  get  Starkey.  From  me  she  received 
nothing  but  kindness  ;  1  loved  her  and  wished  her 
well,  but  she  has  deceived  me  \"  and  overcome  by  these 
painful  thoughts,  the  dear  old  lady  wept  bitterly. 

"  What  with  one  thing  and  another,"  said  she, 
after  a  while  thinking  of  Maitland's  death  as  well  as 
Alice's  deceit,  "  I  cannot,  my  dear  sir,  do  any  thing 
more  to-day.  Leave  me  now,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
see  you  again.    I  shall  be  calmer  then." 

It  was  in  vain  that  on  the  morrow  Philip  Durant 
represented   to   her,  that  considering    the    circum- 


AND    A    WEDDINO   THAT    LOOKS    GAY.  1G9 

Stances  under  which  she  had  signed  this  deed,  het 
true  claim  to  Starkey  was  not  invalidated.  This 
deed  might,  in  fact,  he  said,  be  taken  rather  as  an 
evidence  of  fear  on  their  part  than  anything  else.  It 
was  in  vain  that  he  said  this  and  a  great  deal  more ; 
her  zeal  for  her  own  interests  was  cooled. 

••'  I  wanted  not  Starkey,"  said  she,  "  for  myself, 
but  for  Alice,  and  that  by  gaining  it  thus,  I  might 
be  able  to  save  her  from  ruin  and  misery,  which  I 
did  not  think  she  deserved  ;  but  the  charm  is  broken. 
I  have  been  deceived  in  her,  she  is  less  worthy  than 
I  believed  ;  a  struggle  with  a  person  of  this  character 
will  cost  me  my  peace  of  mind.  Let  her  take 
Starkey,  for  which  she  has  sold  her  honour — I  will 
not  contend  it  with  her.  I  have,  thank  God,  enough 
to  provide  for  my  wants  while  I  live ;  I  will  leave 
Starkey  to  her,  and  let  her  find  in  it  what  peace 
she  may." 

To  Philip  Durant,  as  a  lawyer,  all  this  was  a  most 
undesirable  mode  of  argument.  The  great  law-suit 
was  at  an  end  ;  in  the  first  step  they  had  been  out- 
witted, and  now  their  client  refused  to  proceed.  It 
was  very  unsatisfactory  ;  and  he  knew  that  Mr.  Bar- 
tholomew would  be  even  less  pleased  than  himself, 
for  he  would  neither  sympathise,  as  he  could,  nor 
respect  the  poor  old  gentlewoman's  mode  of  reasoning : 
more  especially,  disturbed  as  her  mind  was  at  the 
present  moment  by  the  death  of  young  Maitland,  and 
the  mournful  absence  of  Mr.  Netley,  who,  in  the 
outset,  had  been  the  mainspring  of  action. 

"  It  is  no  manner  of  use,  my  dear  sir,"  said  she  again 
to  him,  "  your  staying  here  and  reasoning  with  me. 
I  have  made  up  my  mind,  and  shall  not  stir  anothel 


70  A   KIND    HEART   WOUNDED  ; 

step  in  the  business.  Miss  Franklin,  as  I  tell  you, 
was  herself  party  to  this  deed  by  her  presence  when 
it  was  read  to  me.  I  could  not  understand  it  as  a 
mere  receipt  for  my  legac}'';  I  appealed  to  her  about 
it,  and  she  assured  me  tliat  it  was  all  right.  Sir  Lynam 
Thicknisse  was  a  witness  to  it  in  her  presence ;  they 
two  were  leagued  together  in  it,  and  this  is  the 
saddest  part  of  the  business.  This  explains  his 
influence  over  her — her  blindness,  as  I  thought  it, 
and  her  infatuation !  You  know  not  how  all  this 
hurts  me  ;  I  had  expected  better  things  from  her — 
I  thought  her  blind,  but  I  never  suspected  her  to  be 
wicked.  Oh  !  Mr.  Philip,"  said  she,  unable  to  pro- 
ceed, "it  has  quite  overset  me  1"  And  Mrs.  Betty  wept 
tears,  such  as  a  guardian  angel  might  shed  over  a 
wilful  human  sinner. 

"  No,  Mr.  Philip,"  continued  she  again,  "  my 
mind  is  made  up,  and  it  is  no  use  your  wasting 
your  time  here,  and  on  me.  A  lawyer's  time,"  said 
she  with  a  half  smile,  "  must  be  paid  for ;  it  is  a 
costly  thing,  and  now  ^  have  done  with  Starkey,  I 
am  not  rich  enough  to  afford  the  purchase  of  it." 

Philip  offered  her  his  hand,  and  said  that  as  a 
lawyer  he  would  not  trouble  her  with  his  presence, 
but  as  a  friend  was  there  nothing  he  could  do  for 
her  ?  Philip  had  long  been  interested  in  her  as  the 
fast  friend  of  his  cousin  Elizabeth  ;  what  he  now  had 
seen  of  her  interested  him  still  more,  and  he  sincerely 
wished  to 
kindness. 

Mrs,  Betty  considered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied,  that  as  yet  her  immediate  plans  of  action 
were  undecided.     Her  mind  was  not  yet  calm  enough 


AND    A    WEDDING    THAT    LOOKS    GAY.  l7l 

Jo  see  what  was^best  for  her  to  do,  but  that,  if  she 
needed  a  friend,  she  would  not  forget  that  she  might 
look  for  one  in  the  friend  of  her  beloved  god-daughter. 

W^hilst  this  was  going  on  at  Starkey,  there  was 
a  show  of  rejoicing  in  an  elegant  cottage  on  the 
banks  of  Windermere. 

The  people  who  looked  on  and  saw  what  was 
going  forward,  said,  that  a  rich  baronet  was  come 
from  London  to  marry  the  beautiful  young  lady 
who  lived  there  with  her  mother.  The  servants 
of  the  family  told  what  the  baronet's  valet  had 
said,  that  his  master  brought  some  great  good — 
news  with  him ;  that  a  lawsuit  was  ended  all  in 
favour  of  the  beautiful  heiress,  and  that  now  she 
would  have  thousands  and  thousands  of  her  own, 
"which  some  envious  old  aunt  or  grandmother  had 
been  keeping  her  out  of,  and  that  she  would  now 
be  married  to  her  lover,  from  whom  tyrannical 
attempts  had  been  made  to  separate  her ;  that  now 
they  would  be  married,  and  then  go  to  her  own 
grand  home,  from  which  she  had  been  for  long 
time  an  exile,  living  in  humble  cottages  like  some 
heroine  of  romance. 

It  was  a  fine,  interesting  story,  this,  which  was 
told,  and  of  which  nobody  entertained  any  doubt, 
when,  two  days  after  the  baronet's  arrival  from 
London,  tliey  really  w^ere  married,  with  every  show 
of  ha})piness,  village  girls  scattering  flowers  before 
them,  and  village  bells  ringing,  till  the  sunshiny 
air,  as  it  lay  on  the  mountain  sides  and  on  the 
lovely  lake,  seemed  thrilling  with  happiness. 

That,  however,  was  but  the  outward  show  of 
things. 


172  A  KIND    HEART    WOUNDED; 

On  the  morning  of  Alice's  marriage,  half-a-dozen 
gay  people,  friends  whom  the  Franklins  had  n.ade 
in  their  summer  sojournings,  breakfasted  with  them  ; 
among  whom  was  the  clergyman  who  was  to  perform 
the  ceremony. 

He  and  the  father  of  Alice's  two  fair  bridesmaids 
stood  together  in  the  window  talking.  They  were 
talking  of  what  did  not,  to  them,  seem  a  fit  subject 
for  a  bridal  morning — of  an  unhappy  suicide,  in  the 
midst  of  scenery  which,  it  was  said,  resembled  that 
which  surrounded  them.  Alice,  as  she  sat  in  her 
bridal  attire,  caught  a  word — a  name  which  riveted 
her  attention— and  then  another  word  and  then 
another  —  the  two  spoke  in  an  under-voice  and 
rapidly,  for  the  wedding-procession  was  just  about 
to  set  out.  "  I  have  the  paper  in  my  pocket," 
said  the  clergyman.  "  I  will  show  it  you  when 
we  return." 

"Terrible!  most  terrible  1"  said  the  bridesmaid's 
father. 

"  What  is  terrible,  papa  ?"  asked  one  of  the  young 
girls,  drawing  on  her  white  gloves. 

"  Nothmg,  my  dear,  nothing,"  said  her  father ; 
"  only  a  young  fellow  who  has  shot  himself  for  love." 

Alice  felt  as  if  she  should  faint.  "  For  Heaven's 
sake,"  said  she  to  her  mother,  ••'  give  me  a  glass  of 
water." 

No  one  but  her  mother  saw  her  agitation,  and  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  cause  of  it.  Alice  thought  of 
poor  Maitland's  broken  ring,  and  of  the  last  letter  he 
ever  wrote  her ;  and  whilst  she  thought  of  the  je 
things,  she  was  handed  mto  the  carriage  which  con 
veyed  her  to  church. 


AND    A    WEDDING    THAT    LOOKS    GAY.  l73 

•*  How  pale  and  ill  Lady  Thicknisse  looks  !"  said 
every  one  on  the  wedding  day.  Somebody,  too,  saw 
her  take  up  the  paper  which  the  clergyman  had  taken 
from  his  pocket  on  his  return  from  church,  read 
something,  and  then  suddenly  leave  the  room ;  but 
nobody  knew,  not  even  her  mother,  and  least  of  all 
her  bridegroom,  what  a  bitter  agony  was  in  her 
heart. 

Not  many  days  after  her  marriage,  Alice  received 
the  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Betty  Thicknisse  : — • 

"However  much,"  said  the  letter,  "you  may  deserve 
my  reproaches,  you  will  hear  none  from  me.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  save  you  from  certain  misery,  but  in 
vain ;  you  yourself  have  prevented  it.  You  have 
deceived  me  :  what  I  deplore  most  is,  that  I  have 
been  deceived  in  your  character.  You  have  gained 
Starkey,  and  if  you  can  have  peace  of  mind  in  having 
thus  gained  it,  I  am  still  farther  deceived. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  you  have  done  cruelly  ^^Tong — but 
most  wrong  to  yourself !  Endeavour  now  to  amend 
what  is  done ;  and  when  your  conscience  wakes  and 
reproaches  you  for  baseness  and  unkindness  to  me, 
seek  forgiveness  from  Heaven;  and  know,  that  though 
I  shall  still  weep  bitter  tears  over  you — still  that  I 
have  forgiven  you.  Why  indeed  should  I  not  ?  for, 
God  help  you  !  you  will  have  brought  such  a  punish- 
ment on  yourself,  as  no  malice  of  mine  could  have 
wished  you. 

"  You  are  now,  I  hear,  a  wife.  A  new  life  and 
new  duties  are  before  you.  Lead  not  your  husband 
into  error  :  but  oh !  above  all  things,  be  not  led  into 
error  by  him.  Strive  with  yourself  to  ennoble  and 
purify  your  own  heart,  that  if  God  give  you  chil- 


174  A  KIND  HEART  WOUNDED,  ETC. 

dren,  they  may  at  least  have  one  guide  that  they 
may  lollow. 

*'  I  leave  Starkey  to-morrow,  my  home  for  more 
than  sixty  years,  Alas !  this  has  been  a  hard  struggle  I 
I  hope,  when  you  are  as  old  as  me,  you  will  know  no 
pang  like  this,  of  leaving  an  old  beloved  home. 

"  In  this  world  we  shall  probably  meet  no  more. 
Our  next  meeting  may  be  before  the  judgment-seat 
of  God.  Live  so,  Alice — dear  Alice!  I  must  say, 
for  [  love  you  ! — live  so  that  we  may  meet  unabashed 
before  His  face. 

*'  Yours  in  affliction,  which  however  is  but  of  time, 
"  Betty  Thicknisse." 


THE  END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


B     000  007  926     9 


UCSB  LIBRAfry 


